


Resolution

by KaiBlueOtaku



Series: Resolution!'verse [1]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Bloodplay, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Lemon, Light Dom/sub, Oral Sex, Suicide Attempt, Voyeurism, dangai, dream - Freeform, ulquihime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 20:49:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1831801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaiBlueOtaku/pseuds/KaiBlueOtaku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orihime Inoue has been kidnapped, and is being held captive at the palace of Las Noches.  Her keeper, the cold, emotionless Espada Ulquiorra Cifer, seems to be developing an unexplained obsession with her. What will happen when his interest is reciprocated, setting in motion changes that no one could have foreseen?  (Slight OOC/AU, Anime Spoilers, Language, Violence, & LEMON)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Analysis

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: (This story was originally published on Fanfiction.net by me, under the same title and pen name. It was reported for mature content, and was subsequently "scrubbed" of the majority of its sexual content, so it could remain on the site. This is the original, uncut, full LEMON version. I hope you enjoy it.)
> 
> Here it is. My masterpiece, completed. This story is my version of “how it really happened,” written between the lines and behind the scenes of the Anime. There is a certain amount of content (primarily in the later chapters) which is predominantly transcription of the episodes, supplemented with my own insertion of internal dialogue and back story. This was very time consuming and tedious, and I hope everyone appreciates the cohesive fluidity and adherence to cannon I was attempting to achieve through this. I don’t believe it is ever anything I will try to do again, but I do not believe it is something I would have to do again, because of the fact that this story sets the foundation world for any of the UlquiHime one-shots I plan to write later. 
> 
> GENERAL DISCLAIMER: Most of this story is my own, including motives of some individuals, however portions of the story I have included are directly transcribed, word for word, from the Anime episodes. The Bleach Anime and all related characters are intellectual property of the amazing Tite Kubo. I do not recieve compensation or payment for my writing.
> 
> AUTHOR DISCLAIMER: Ok, pay attention. There are SOME SPOILERS, if you aren’t up to speed with at least episode 310 of the Anime. This story has COARSE LANGUAGE, GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, SLIGHT BLOOD-PLAY, SLIGHT DOM/sub and LEMON, (which means adult/sexual content,) so if you’re not interested please turn back now.
> 
> For anyone who is still reading this… Welcome to my world. It has been painstakingly crafted with love, and I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I have enjoyed creating it. 
> 
> I dedicate this story to Ulquiorra, who was cut down before his time, never having had the chance to come fully to terms with, and openly declare, his love for Orihime. It is this irreconcilable truth which has spawned the community of UlquiHime fans, demanding resolution for the unrequited love that had, so clearly to us, grown between the two of them. This is the resolution you have been seeking.
> 
> //////// 
> 
> RESOLUTION [rez-uh-loo-shuhn] noun;
> 
> 1: The act or process of analyzing a complex notion into simpler ones;
> 
> 2: A firm decision to do or not do something, or to behave in a certain manner;
> 
> 3: The process of reducing or separating something into its components;
> 
> 4: Something settled or resolved; the outcome of decision making;
> 
> 5: The action of solving a problem, dispute, or contentious matter;
> 
> 6: A measure of the sharpness of an image, or the fineness with which a device (as a video display, printer or scanner) can produce or record such an image.

                Ulquiorra’s pale face glowed with a bluish cast in the flickering light of the monitor.  It was late; probably late enough to be considered ‘early.’  He was a bit weary from the events of the day, but though tired, the Fourth Espada could not sleep tonight.  He felt somewhat troubled.

                 _No,_ he thought to himself.   _Not troubled.  More…  uneasy.  An uncertain restlessness._ He slouched sideways in the chair, resting his head heavily in his hand, propped up on his elbow.  He flipped mindlessly through the hundreds of channels of the surveillance cameras that Lord Aizen had installed around the palace of Las Noches. 

                His breath caught in his throat as the monitor flipped over to the cell holding Orihime Inoue. 

                She had arrived only today.  Lord Aizen had put Ulquiorra in charge of the human woman’s care for the duration of her stay in Hueco Mundo.  She was of some interest to Lord Aizen because of her unprecedented ability to “Reject Fate.”  It was indeed an unheard of power, of that Ulquiorra was in complete agreement.

                Yet Ulquiorra felt there was something more of interest about this woman than simply her peculiar skills, something he wasn’t quite able to put his finger on, despite his superior intellect.  He zoomed in the camera closer on her face.  Squinting a bit in the dim light, he leaned in and peered intently into the monitor, trying to discern what that quality was.

                The moon that hung eternally in the sky above Hueco Mundo shone its cold beams down through the barred window of Orihime’s cell.  In this light, Ulquiorra could clearly see her face, as smooth and flawless as fine porcelain.  Long lashes lay still in slumber, concealing her expressive, doe-like eyes, which he had earlier noted were a silvery grey.  Her full lips were parted only slightly, and her generous chest rose and fell with each breath.

                 _Certainly her hair is of note,_ he thought.  It was very long and straight, the color of warm honey and cinnamon.  The moonbeams glinted luminously off her shining locks as they cascaded across her pillow.  A few stray strands lay errantly over her cheek.  This slightly annoyed Ulquiorra, and he reached out his hand to brush them back behind her ear.  He was startled when his fingertips unexpectedly struck the glass of the monitor.

                 _Stupid,_ he chided himself.  Had he been drifting off to sleep?  How could he have forgotten this was only an image over a monitor?   _I must be addled by my lack of rest,_ he reasoned.  He sat up straight now and slowly reached his hand back up to the screen, splaying his fingers across her face.   _Does she have some strange power of hypnosis?_ he mused, cocking his head to the side slightly and narrowing his eyes.

                Ulquiorra gasped sharply and jerked his hand back as Orihime’s eyes fluttered open, and she looked straight at him.  Almost _into_ him.

                Orihime glanced around the room, looking for someone.  She didn’t directly feel anyone’s spiritual pressure there in her cell, but she sensed… something.  It was as though she were being observed, even though there was no one there.  It was not in a fashion that worried her, or put her in a state of fear.  As a captive in this terrible place, it caused her to feel strangely comforted.  As though someone were keeping watch over her.  Guarding her.  Protecting her.

                The moonlight shone down from the window onto the couch and the floor, painting this small patch of the room in stark contrast.  She peered intently into the darkness around the edges of the light.  She could see no one, but the feeling remained, that she was being watched. 

                “Hello?...” Orihime whispered.  The only reply that met her ears as they waited was the wind whistling by the barred window of her cell.  She chalked it up to the unfamiliar surroundings, and with a final glance around, rolled over to go back to sleep.

                In the surveillance room, Ulquiorra let out his breath, which he hadn’t realized until that very moment, that he had been holding.  His eyes were wide, and he sat as still as a deer, except he was trembling.  And he wasn’t sure why.

                After several minutes, Ulquiorra reached his hand out with great trepidation, hesitated, and then decisively turned off the monitor.  The click of the switch was a deafening report in the silence of the sterile room.  As its echoes faded, they were replaced by the pounding of his own blood in his ears.  He sat for what felt to him like an eternity, trembling and breathless, alone in the dark.

                 _What… is… this?..._ Ulquiorra asked himself. _Impossible,_ he scolded, shaking off his shock.  He took a deep breath, pushing down the unfamiliar sensations and resuming his stony façade.  He knew full well that she had no inkling of the cameras, let alone their placement.  She was simply staring into the darkness. 

                But for all his logic, Ulquiorra could not shake the persistent thought from his head that Orihime had somehow not only seen him, but looked  _into_  him, and seen the deepest part of his soul.  _If indeed the Espada had such things as souls,_ he thought, scoffing cynically.  He pushed his chair away from the bank of monitors and left the room, wandering the corridors on his way back to his own chamber.

                Ulquiorra’s feet stopped though, not at the door of his chamber as he had intended, but at the door of Orihime’s cell.  _Certainly some type of hypnosis,_ he assured himself, turning curtly from her door and continuing down the hall to his chamber.

WWWWWWWWWW

                The days passed, one much as the other, for Orihime.  The fourth Espada, Ulquiorra Cifer, had been ordered by Lord Aizen to attend to her needs.  He initially did this almost grudgingly, she felt, as though she were an inconvenience to him.

                As time had gone on however, something had changed.

                Orihime had so many long hours alone in her cell, sleeping and daydreaming to try to help pass the time, that she thought at first she was imagining it.  That maybe it was only her mind playing cruel tricks on her.

                But she began to pay careful attention, mentally counting the seconds for which Ulquiorra remained in her cell after bringing her meals and changes of clothing; after all, what better did she have to do, anyway? 

                The first few days, he had left almost instantly.  After that though, there had begun to develop an awkward sort of… lingering.

                 _It’s almost as if he’s stalling,_ Orihime thought to herself.   _Maybe he’s bored?  Maybe he has nothing better to do with his time here, so he finds me an interesting diversion?_

                Of that, there could be little doubt.  Ulquiorra’s eyes barely left Orihime while he was there in her cell, and it had not gone unnoticed by her.  He did not feel, on his part, a need to conceal his curiosity.  He didn’t even understand why he found her to be so intriguing, which made the mystery even more irresistible to him.

                It had become a nightly ritual now that he would watch her sleeping over the monitors.  He did not truly require nightly sleep.  He would often meditate for long stretches, which would achieve the same effect of adequately resting his mind and body.

                This woman though was a far more interesting way to pass the hours.  Ulquiorra didn’t understand why he would rather watch Orihime sleep, instead of simply sleeping himself.

                When he meditated, he now found his mind invariably turning to her.  When he would catch it, he would sometimes scold himself, and again clear his mind to resume his meditation.

                Sometimes.

                Other times, though- and these times were becoming increasingly frequent- he would allow his mind to meander over thoughts of her.  Her full curves, hugged tautly by the crisp, white linen of her Arrancar uniform.  Her small smile and peculiar, almost annoying habit of constantly thanking him, for even the smallest of things.  A napkin.  A piece of cake.  A hairbrush.  All requested items, and there was no reason why he would not accommodate the simple requests.  But she seemed so grateful for these tiny bestowed comforts, and almost embarrassed in accepting them from him.

                In truth, he had come to find some strange satisfaction in fulfilling these menial tasks of fetching these items, from the various store rooms of Las Noches or even from the world of the Living, as in the case of the hair brush.  He had begun to look forward to meeting these requests for her.

                One day, Ulquiorra brought Orihime her lunch.  A Fraccion Hollow rolled the cart in, and removed the cover from the plate.  “You are dismissed,” Ulquiorra told the Hollow without looking at it, and it left, closing the door behind itself.

                He couldn’t take his eyes off of her.  It seemed to him that to look away would be almost a crime in itself.  These visits he had with her were so limited, and he wished to look upon her more and more as time went on.  It had begun to consume him, so he never wasted a moment of his gaze elsewhere when he was in her presence.

                Orihime sat on the couch, looking away and fidgeting.  She was anxious.  The Espada’s spiritual pressure was intense and powerful, even though his Hierro blocked the full strength of it.  She knew he was powerful beyond her imaginings, and surely dangerous.  His emerald eyes were piercing, and she felt that he could see right through her, or even  _into_ her, with ease.  He was not the sort of person she wanted to anger, not only for the inherent danger, but predominantly because of his melancholy demeanor.  He was so cold, distant and impersonal, true, but underlying that she felt there was a deep sadness.  She was gentle by nature, and inclined to want to heal people; that wounded part of him called out to her.  She wanted to help him, to ease whatever inner turmoil he was in, but she did not believe he would accept her assistance willingly.

                “Woman,” he called out, breaking her out of her distracted musings.  She looked up shyly at him.

                “Yes?”  Her voice was barely a whisper.

                “Eat, Woman.”  It was a command, but there was no threat behind it.

                Orihime had hoped that he would leave if she ignored him, but clearly, that tactic had failed.  She sighed, resigned, and meekly crept over to retrieve the cart, pushing it over to the couch and sitting down to her meal.

                Ulquiorra remained standing there, watching her.  Every movement was intoxicating to him.  He felt sure she must have some ability of hypnosis, similar to Lord Aizen’s zanupakto.  He could not imagine any other explanation for why he found her to be so fascinating.

                She glanced up at him from under her long, side swept band.  “Thank you,” she uttered softly, “Ulquiorra.”

                Orihime saw him bristle slightly, and then resume his cold, unbroken façade as before.  She had hoped the thanks would satisfy him, and he would leave, but it seemed instead to have irritated him momentarily.  He continued to stand there, watching her eat.

                Orihime had misread Ulquiorra’s reaction, however.  What she mistook for irritation, was actually Ulquiorra steeling himself against the sound of his name, falling like a rose petal from her lips.  His eyes drank her in, like a man dying of thirst in a desert.  No miniscule detail went unnoticed under his hungry gaze.  The delicate pressure of her slender fingers against the soft, yielding white bread.  The parting of her lips, obscuring all but the smallest white sliver of her teeth, as she took dainty bites of her sandwich, chewing them soundlessly.  It was surreal.  Through the water glass, he could see her tongue writhing as she drank the cold water.  When she set the glass down, the moistness of her lips suddenly made him very uncomfortable, and he abruptly turned his back to Orihime, so she would not notice that he had become aroused.

                This was highly unexpected, and Ulquiorra didn’t know why he was responding this way.  He was familiar with the autonomic response, but strictly in an academic sense.  He had never experienced it himself.

                “Do you… require anything more?” he asked Orihime, as an excuse to leave.

                “Is it possible that I could bathe today?” Orihime asked him softly.

                Ulquiorra held his breath.  As he moved briskly out the door, he replied in a carefully metered tone, “I will return to escort you to the bath later this evening.”

                Ulquiorra nearly bowled over Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, the sixth seat Espada, who was lurking in the hallway just outside Orihime’s doorway.  A few days before, he’d had to deal with a similar encounter from Nnoitora, another of the Espada.  Ulquiorra turned curtly away and headed down the corridor, choosing not to engage him, so that Grimmjow would not be witness to Ulquiorra’s indiscretion.

                “You’ve been spending an awful lot of time with Aizen’s… pet,” Grimmjow sneered.

                Ulquiorra continued down the hallway, refusing to reply to this lewd Espada.  Grimmjow was not worth his time, and he just wanted to get away from him before Grimmjow found something legitimate to taunt Ulquiorra about.

                “Is she any good?” Grimmjow called just before Ulquiorra turned the corner.

                Ulquiorra stopped dead in his tracks.

                “Speak plainly,” he ordered, not looking back.

                “I was just wondering, you know…”  Grimmjow grinned idiotically.  “You’ve been spending so much time in there.  When do the rest of us get a piece of the action?”

                “Know your place, Sexta,” Ulquiorra threatened, darkness palpable in his voice as he discerned the innuendo.  “She is not one of your whores.  You  _will_  keep your distance from her.”

                “Touchy much?” Grimmjow laughed.  “What’s the matter, don’t like to share your toys?”

                “Lord Aizen has his purposes for her, and has placed her under my protection.  That includes protection from trash such as Nnoitora and yourself,” Ulquiorra spat.  His hands were clenched into fists in his pockets.  He wanted to let go of all common sense and self-control and slaughter this disrespectful Arrancar for saying such crude things about Orihime.

                “Yeah, yeah,” Grimmjow sighed as he watched the Cuatra continue around the corner and out of sight.

                Alone in his chamber at last, Ulquiorra pondered the turn of events form earlier in the day.  He felt somewhat bewildered, stalking over to a green satin meditation cushion.  As he sat cross-legged on the cushion, he stared down at his hands, still clenched into tight fists.

                “What is happening to me?” he whispered aloud.  He was trembling again.

                All of the Espada represented a different aspect of death.  The aspect the Ulquiorra represented was “Emptiness.”

                 _What is this?_ he asked.  He…  _felt_ something, which was entirely against his constitution.  He was the very embodiment of emptiness, and yet somehow, he felt so…

                “Full.”  His voice was ragged, and it echoed off the walls of his chambers.  The word hung in the air, foreign and incomprehensible to him.

                It was a completely alien sensation, but it seemed to fit the criteria.  Ulquiorra was bewildered by it, like a blind person who suddenly gained sight for the first time in their life.  His logic was incapable of processing the emotion.  He was entirely lacking a heart, both figuratively and actually, since his Hollow hole was through the very place in his chest where it should have been.  As the embodiment of emptiness, his very Reishi was formed of such.  Every muscle, bone, tendon and fiber of his being; all formed from pure, distilled emptiness.  It was no wonder he couldn’t comprehend what he was experiencing.

                After he had meditated for a while and calmed down, Ulquiorra returned to Orihime’s cell.

                She was standing at the window, the warm breeze blowing her hair and the long skirt of her uniform.  Her eyes had a faraway look, and she gazed out the window over the ocean of sand that was the vast desert of Hueco Mundo.

                Ulquiorra stood for several minutes, watching her lost in her daydreaming.  She was unaware of his presence, and we wondered what it might be like to watch her sleeping in person for once, instead of always over the monitor.

                “Woman,” he called at last, his voice rousing the both of them from their idle daydreaming.

                Orihime turned with a cry of alarm, startled that someone had entered the room without her noticing.  Her heart soared when she saw it was Ulquiorra.  She was so bored and lonesome here, and even though she knew how dangerous he must be, she felt a growing closeness with him.  Perhaps it was just gratitude, seeing as how it was he who had provided for all her needs since the day she had arrived in this wretched place.

                “It is time for your bath, Woman,” he commanded her.  “Come.”  His sternness was a charade; under the surface, he was a raging storm, growing ever more tumultuous with each encounter he shared with her.

                Orihime smiled and came, quick to respond to his call.  Passing by him in the doorway and turning promptly down the corridor, her hair whipped near his face.  He got a whiff of her, and closed his eyes, steeling himself against her exhilarating scent.  It was becoming physically painful to him, all of this interaction with her, and his senses were becoming overwhelmed.  He was aware of things he could not fully comprehend, lurking on the edges of his consciousness, like vapors that he could smell but not grasp.  It was maddening, and he was beginning to doubt his sanity.

                Orihime was already familiar with the location of the bath.  It was just down the hall from her cell.  Ulquiorra had taken her there the day she had arrived, and ordered her to wash up and change into the uniform.  He had waited outside the door then.

                Today, Orihime had a problem.  The Arrancar uniform she had been issued zipped in the back, and she was unable to reach it on her own.

                “Ulquiorra?...” she called timidly through the door.  “Um…  Can you, um, help me with something?”

                He entered the room and saw her standing, her back to him, beside the steaming bathtub.  “Could you get the zipper for me?”

                He made no sound, but moved to her, pinching the zipper tab and slowly lowering it to expose her bare back.  As he did so, his fingers brushed her skin, and she stiffened at his touch, letting out a gasp.

                His fingers were not cold, as she has expected them to be.  Orihime was surprised, but pleased to learn this.  They felt warm and alive, and her loneliness made her flesh scream out for more human contact.  Even the touch of this Arrancar, inhuman though he was, was welcomed.  She felt so isolated…

                She turned quickly, holding the top up with a hand for a moment, and then, without making any eye contact, she threw her arms around him in a firm embrace.  “Arigato,” she mumbled into his jacket as she buried her face in it, on the verge of tears.

                Ulquiorra froze.  He was taken completely off guard by this unexpected action.  Not sure what to do, he raised a tentative hand to her back and laid it there.

                Ulquiorra could sense her response to his touch, and he was intrigued.  Her breath and pulse quickened, and she melted into his hand.  He wondered if it was simply his touch, or the bare skin that was causing the response.  He slid his hand down to her low back, where her flesh was still covered by a zippered portion of the uniform.

                 _No,_ he thought,  _she has become even more responsive now._ Then it hit him.  Was this woman…  Aroused?  By him?

                He stepped back then from her, and took her chin in his hand, turning her face up, her eyes to meet his.  She tried to avert her gaze as his emerald irises bored into her soul, but he gripped her jaw with a severity that forced her to look at him.

                His face was a mask, as always.  But his eyes- those eyes betrayed to her a hurricane of emotion.  Confusion.  Hunger.  Sadness.  Hope?

                “What is the matter, Woman?” he demanded.

                “I…”  Orihime stumbled over her words, tears brimming up in her eyes.  “I’m…  I’m so lonely.”  One single teardrop escaped her eyelashes and rolled down her cheek.  It dripped off her chin and a stony hand shot out to catch it in mid-air.  Ulquiorra’s fingers traced the wet trail up her cheek, and wiped at the edge of her eye.  He held her face more gently for a moment, then withdrew his hand.

                “Tears signify sadness,” he stated clinically.  Orihime nodded, sniffling a little.

                “I will stay,” he declared as he sat with a decisive manner on the bench, crossing one leg across the other.

                Orihime’s mouth and eyes shot open wide, and her cheeks flared red.  She was just about to protest when two thoughts came to her, one on top of the other.  The first was that she didn’t want to anger this potentially dangerous man by asking him to leave, right on the heels of tearfully confessing her loneliness to him.  The second, being that he was extending kindness to her in his own strange way, and that she ought not spite him that.  The first thought frightened her, but not as much as the second one warmed her heart.  Truth be told, she  _did_  want his company- desperately, even- but she was embarrassed at the idea of a man seeing her nude.

                Decidedly, she grabbed a bath towel, and wrapped it around herself as she tried awkwardly to slip out of her uniform underneath it.  The steam from the tub had made the tile wet though, and when she pulled off her boots, her foot slipped.  She let out a scream of terror as she fell, her head in line to impact the porcelain of the bathtub.

                Strong hands caught her as she flailed, the towel falling away.  Orihime reached for it, panicked, but found his eyes instead.

                “Woman,” Ulquiorra whispered, a softness in his voice that sounded to her almost like concern, or worry.  “What are you doing?”  His gaze held her pinned like a butterfly under glass, but never once did his eyes waver from hers to sneak a glance at her exposed bosom.

                “I…  Um…”  She groped pitifully for the discarded towel, trying to cover herself.  She shuddered as she felt Ulquiorra drawing the soft, cotton loops of the cloth tantalizingly slowly over her bare flesh, teasing her nipples as he brought it up to her throat.  She knew he probably meant nothing but to assist her modestly by the action, but she arched her back and squirmed still at the unexpected stimulation, gasping and clutching the towel to her chest.

                Orihime’s mouth felt dry then, and she swallowed, trying to find her words.

                “You do not wish me to see your body, Woman?” Ulquiorra asked gently.

                Orihime panted, a combination of terror and exhilaration flooding through her.  She felt confused.  She wanted him to; with every fiber of her being, she wanted that closeness with him.  But part of her was reluctant, for she had never yet been so exposed before a man.

                “Yes,” she murmured.  “I, I mean, no!  I mean, um…”  She looked up, swimming in the languid pools of his eyes.  His head was bent over her, his face mere inches from her own, and she could feel his breath rustling her bangs.

                Instead of replying, he leaned closer in to her, looking from her lips to her eyes, asking permission.

                In a moment of reckless abandon, she boldly tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled his head down, her pink lips rising to meet his black and white ones.

                Ulquiorra’s world turned upside down.  He felt submerged beneath an ocean, and he could not catch his breath.   _This,_ he thought.   _Yes.  This._ He wanted it; it was shocking, because he had never wanted this before with any of the Arrancar of Hueco Mundo.  Any of the others would surely have been willing to do this, even Hallibel had expressed her interest at times.  He knew then that this was no hypnosis other than that he was becoming utterly infatuated with this woman.

                Orihime pulled back then, seeming to be simultaneously excited and disconcerted, and undoubtedly flustered.

                “Your reply was unsatisfactory,” Ulquiorra said to her.

                Orihime looked completely lost.  “What?”

                “I asked if you did not wish me to see your body,” he repeated, his voice hiding the turmoil and pain he was feeling just below his cool surface.

                “Oh.”  Orihime gathered her wits a bit at this, and looked around, as if she had forgotten where they were.  “Um... I should probably, um…”  She glanced at the bath tub and motioned vaguely toward that general direction.

                “Of course,” Ulquiorra assured her, and stood, then helped Orihime to her feet.  She held the towel around herself and he assisted her to step over the high sides of bath.  She glanced nervously at him, and clutched the towel, still standing in the tub.

                “Hn,” Ulquiorra grunted noncommittally, and returned to the bench, sitting with his back to her.

                Orihime smiled.  “Arigato,” she whispered as she laid the towel aside and slid into the steaming water.

                “May we converse while you bathe?” Ulquiorra inquired.

                “Mmm-hmm,” Orihime vocalized affirmatively, her mouth below the waterline as she attempted to sink into the bath and disappear.

                “You humans are perplexing,” Ulquiorra observed aloud.  “You clearly found pleasure in the contact, and yet you chose to terminate it.  Why is this?”

                Orihime sputtered as she shot upright in the tub.  “I…  How embarrassing!” she blurted, a pink flush overtaking her cheeks.  “You can’t just…”

                “What is the meaning of that word, ‘embarrassing?’” Ulquiorra interrupted.

                Orihime stilled herself.   _He really doesn’t understand,_ she realized.  “It’s sort of a combination of feeling self conscious, confused, ashamed, and foolish, I guess,” she explained.

                “What are you ashamed of?” he implored.  “Your body is not malformed or misshapen in any way.”  He hesitated, then in a quieter voice, added, “It is in fact, exceptional.”

                “OH!” Orihime exclaimed, the blood rushing back to her cheeks.  “That’s not the sort of thing you just say to people!”

                “Why?” Ulquiorra demanded.  “It is true, and I can discern well enough from your response that you know it already.”

                Orihime dunked her head below the water, blowing bubbles, exasperated.   _He is infuriating!  He is completely formal, but almost like a tiny child; honest to a flaw, without any sense of social impropriety._ She bit her lip.   _It would be a good quality to have in a boyfr…_ She stopped herself mid-thought, incredulous that she was even pondering such things.

                Orihime surfaced and wiped water from her eyes.  She reached for the shampoo bottle and poured some of the liquid onto her hair, working it into lather.

                Ulquiorra again interrupted the silence.  “Would ‘embarrassing’ be if a male had an unexpected erection?”

                Orihime’s jaw fell open, and she craned her neck to see if maybe the Espada was ‘embarrassed’ at that very moment.  Ulquiorra scrutinized her darkly over his shoulder, and she gasped, caught at trying to peep on him.  “Is it?” he repeated in a threatening tone.

                “Y… Yes,” she squeaked.

                “Hn.”  Ulquiorra averted his gaze again away from her.  He picked up the thread of conversation he had left lying from earlier, incorporating this new knowledge.  “But you are incapable of having an erection.”

                “No, women have…  Um…  Different ways that they…  Uh, get aroused.  And there are other reasons to get embarrassed,” Orihime disclosed, feeling that this conversation was high on the list of her ‘other’ reasons at the moment.

                Ulquiorra was silent for some time, lost in thought as Orihime finished washing.  Her hand on his shoulder jolted him out of his introspections.  When he looked back, he was paralyzed with the sight of her wrapped in only her towel.

                “Woman,” he puzzled, “What is the meaning of this?”

                Orihime blushed, and stared at the floor.  “I…  My uniform is dirty.”

                Ulquiorra followed her line of sight to the offending article, lying in a heap.  “Of course.  I will take it to the laundry, and return with a clean one,” he assured her, scooping up the wrinkled garment and striding to the exit.

                Ulquiorra’s hand reached for the door as he heard her call, “I do…”

                “Hn?”  He turned to her.  Her nervous hand released its vice-grip on the towel, and it fluttered to the ground.  He struggled to maintain his composure, and focused intently on the undulating folds of the towel at her feet, far below temptation.  “Woman.”  His voice was cautious.  “What do you mean by this?”

                “I do,” Orihime repeated.  “Want you to see my body.”

                She saw the change in him instantly.  His fingers tightened on the knob of the door.  His breath became quick and shallow.  His lips pursed tightly, and his tongue darted out to lick at them because he felt they had become dry.  As if to take the sight in to the fullest, his eyes widened as he raised them up apprehensively.  He devoured her from across the room, and Orihime, though wearing not a stitch of clothing, felt he were undressing her even further somehow with his gaze alone.

                Ulquiorra swallowed the lump in his throat.  “What is the meaning of this, Woman?”

                She seemed to him to float across the room, and stood near enough to him that he could smell her scent mingled with the clean odor of the soap and shampoo.  It disoriented him, and he clutched the doorknob now in an attempt to anchor himself to this world.

                Orihime peered with hope into his face.  “I thought…  That you wanted to see me.”

                Ulquiorra inhaled deeply, closing his eyes.  “What I want,” he began in a careful tone, “is of no importance.”  He opened them again and drilled into her with his fierce green gaze.  “What matters is what you want.”

                Orihime pressed her body to his.  She could feel the growing hardness straining though his pants against her stomach.  Ulquiorra leaned his head down, and his lips brushed her ear, sending shivers throughout her body.  They collected, as though drawn magnetically, below his hardness.  Breathily, he whispered, “What  _is_  it that you want…   _Woman?”_

                She felt like a gazelle, trapped in the sights of a leopard, or a fly in the web of a venomous spider.  It was exhilarating and terrifying, and she slipped into a momentary state of torpor.

                Ulquiorra’s tongue traced a line, along her ear, down her neck, and to the front of her throat.  Orihime felt his teeth teasing there, and then his tongue laved firmly at the soft slope between her neck and shoulder, like an animal cleaning its wounds.  The dress fell at their feet, momentarily forgotten.

                Orihime shuddered, and her legs weakened.  Ulquiorra’s knee shot out between hers and his arm came around her waist, pinning her to him and holding her up.  She moaned at the introduction of the pressure between her thighs.

                He nuzzled the area behind her ear, and panted, “Do not play coy games with me, Woman.  I am unsure I can restrain myself much longer around you.”  He set her down a little roughly on the bench, and she looked up at him, tears welling in her silvery eyes.

                His face fell.  He could see she was crushed, and something in him felt like it was straining as he saw this.  He didn’t know quite what to do.  “Forgive me if I have upset you,” he fumbled.  “It was not my intention.”

                She shook her head, her throat choked by tears, waving a hand as if to dismiss him.  “It’s nothing…”

                He took her jaw in his hand with a firm but gentle touch, and turned her face.  “A lie.  It is  _something._   What is causing you to cry?”

                Orihime sniffled.  “I…  I’ve never been with anyone before.”  Ulquiorra stared dumbly at her.  She sniffled again, and gestured toward the door, where their brief encounter had just occurred.  “I mean, like  _that.”_

                Realization overtook him, and he felt the straining in his chest beginning to ache.  He shook his head.  “I am sorry.  It never occurred to me…”

                Orihime shook her head, still crying, and waved her hand dismissively again.  “No, it’s ok…”

                She was frightened by the severity of his voice when he said, “No, it is not,  _‘ok.’_ ”  She looked up at him and there appeared to be something dark leaking from his eyes.

                “Ulquiorra, your eyes…” she remarked.  He touched his face, and was shocked to find a sticky black fluid.  He snatched up her dress, and hurried to the door.

                “I shall return with your change of clothing,” he called back to her from down the hallway, so quickly was he moving.

                 _What is this?_ Ulquiorra asked.  He had no idea what the fluid was.  Tears were water, but this was more akin to tar.  He hastily made the swap of the uniforms, and returned to bring it back to Orihime.  Along the way, he came across a Fraccion, and instructed it to bring the prisoner her dinner, if he did not return in time.  Ulquiorra waited impatiently for Orihime to change into her dress, and then zipped it up for her.  “Please, excuse me,” he muttered.

                “Ulquiorra!”  she lamented, stopping him in his tracks.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”  Orihime shook her head, her tears returning easily.  “What’s wrong?”  His silence was deafening to her.  “Where are you going?  When will you be back?”

                “Dinner,” was all he could manage to choke out before rushing from the room.

WWWWWWWWW

                Ulquiorra had intended to return to his chamber, but he felt overwhelmed.  His mind was reeling.  He needed to blow off some steam, and for that, he would have to leave the palace of Las Noches and go out into the desert of Hueco Mundo.

                Ulquiorra travelled swiftly for an area away from anyone, so he could release his zanupakto.  It was forbidden for the Espada numbered four of higher to release their Resurreccion forms or cero blasts within the palace; it was too destructive.  He hoped that he could harmlessly annihilate some rocks and trees to help him tire out his body, and expel some of this unbearable pent up energy he felt was on the verge of ripping him in two.

                Once he used his Pesquisa to be sure there were no other Hollow nearby, he unsheathed his sword, closed his eyes, and whispered, “Enclose, Murcielago.”

                Black and green reitsu began to materialize, falling like dreadful rain around him.  His hair grew longer and the wind licked at it wildly.  His Hollow mask morphed, centering on the top of his head as a second horn sprouted, mirroring the other side as both grew long out to the sides and forward.  The markings on his face became darker, broader, bolder.  His jacket shifted as well, becoming taut over his lean, compact frame.  As the Reitsu slowed its fall, he finalized his Resurreccion with a loud  _snap_  as he extended two monstrous bat wings to either side of him in a high arch.

                Ulquiorra hacked feverishly at a large formation of stone that was nearby.  He struck it again and again, cutting deep into the rock on all sides, for the longest time.  After a while, he felt as though it was only aggravating him further, instead of blowing off steam as he had hoped.  With a roar full of fury, he gave a powerful slash.   The entire façade of the rock fell away, and where his blade had sliced through it, the black stone was molten white hot.  As it cooled, it became glassy, like onyx.

                With a single flap of his massive, powerful wings, he lifted high into the air.  Nothing but a silhouette against the moon, he began to fire green Cero blasts in quick succession into the desert below, kicking up billowing clouds of dust and creating an ever-widening puddle of glass.

                He flew up then.  Straight up, with all of the speed and strength his Sonido allowed.  He flew past the scarce cloud cover.  He flew until the air became thin.  He flew until he began to black out, and then…

                He fell.

                He didn’t care anymore.  None of it made any sense.  None of it mattered.  He couldn’t stand this  _feeling_  any longer.  These emotions were unbearable.  The wind whipped his hair into his face, and he stared blankly up at his useless wingtips, his back toward the earth as he plummeted like a rock.

                 _I will hit the glass,_ he speculated.   _Perhaps I will die, as I have lost the will to carry on.  That would be better.  Better than this.  This is intolerable.  Insufferable.  I cannot endure this any longer._

                Ulquiorra closed his eyes in surrender, resigned to his fate.

                Then, he saw her face.

                “Orihime,” he whispered as he fell.

                He thought at that moment he had impacted the sea of glass- his body felt as though it exploded in a million tiny shards, and each was filled with pain.  He felt as if his body were vibrating, unstable, as if his very cells were going to blow apart in every direction and scatter like ash on the wind.  And through all the pain, all he could see, or think of, was her.

                All at once, unexpectedly, he wanted to live.  All the pain that he had been feeling, all the confusion, agony and torment, suddenly rolled full weight over onto him, and it all hinged on one thought:  _If I die, I will never see her again._

                That thought… was  _truly_  unbearable.

                As he fell, his body exploded in green and black flames.  He could see pieces of his uniform flying away as it was ripped to shreds.  He felt himself burning away, being consumed until it seemed like there was nothing left. Still, it burned.  On and on.  He fell for eternities.

                And then, the pain gave way to something new. A feeling of fullness, but not as it had been before, uncomfortable and intolerable.  A feeling of renewed strength now coursed through him.  He clenched his fists, and when he looked at his hands was astounded to see that they had become black and claw-like.  His fore arms were covered in a pitch black fur.  He saw a long, whip-like tail with a tuft on the end of it.   _What has happened to me?_ he gasped.

                Ulquiorra flipped in mid-air, extending his wings.  They caught the wind and billowed, and he floated gently to the ground, landing on feet that were less like feet and more like talons, covered like his arms in the black fur which extended all the way up to his waist.  He looked over at the stone he had slashed with his blade, and into the onyx-like reflective surface.

                His eyes had changed.  His pupils had become yellow, and the sclera was now green.  The bony helmet of his hollow mask was completely gone, and now only two long, pointy, twisted horns remained.  The markings on his face seemed to have become wider still, and blacker.  He touched a clawed finger to the area and was surprised to find it was wet.  The marks were no longer simply marks, they were actual fluid now.  The black, sticky liquid that was leaking from his eyes.  And while his Espada ranking number was nowhere to be found, his Hollow hole seemed to be leaking the same substance.  “What…?”  he whispered, bewildered.

                Abruptly, the world began to spin around him.  Ulquiorra’s knees grew weak, and he became queasy.  He fell on all fours, retching.  His consciousness faded to black, and he collapsed in a heap on the white sand, under the cold moonlight.

                He slept.  And as he slept, he dreamed.

                Ulquiorra didn’t often dream.  He had nothing to dream about.  But this place he found himself in seemed vaguely familiar.  It was a house in the World of the Living.  There were people there, going about their activities, and they seemed almost recognizable to him.  He caught motion out of the corner of his eye and turned to see…

                Himself.

                Ulquiorra couldn’t breathe.  He felt like he was suffocating.   _No,_ he screamed silently in his mind.   _What is this?  I don’t want to see this._ It went on though.

                It was him, as a human.  A young man.  Handsome.  Healthy.  Alive.  Vibrant.  Coming down the stairs to greet the people in the kitchen.  Smiling,  Laughing.

                The image began to swim before him, and he screamed, “NO!” as he reached out to grab it, stop it, hold on to it.  He felt a rising dread of what would come next.

                He saw coffins.  Many of them.  Grave stones.  And he was standing beside them.  Alone.

                “No,” Ulquiorra whispered jaggedly.  He felt as though he was strangling.  The image swam again, and showed the young man in the house again.  Alone now.  Things were quiet.  Dark.  There was no sound of laughter.  He looked ragged.  Unkempt.  Cold.  Already dead inside.

                Ulquiorra turned away.  He knew now what was coming next, he remembered, and could not bear to watch.  It was too painful to recall.  He couldn’t believe he had forgotten these things for so long, but wished they had remained so.

                He felt a hand on his shoulder, and bristled, turning abruptly.  It was the young man- himself, Ulquiorra- only his Soul Chain was visible.  He was a Plus, a spirit, trapped now in the world of the living, unable to cross over.

                “Why?” was all Ulquiorra could say to the young man.

                The young man smiled sadly, and reached his hand out to the place where Ulquiorra’s Hollow hole sat gaping in his chest.  “Emptiness.  It consumed me.  It devoured my heart, and I became it.  I became you.”

                “Why are you coming to me now?  Why are you bothering me with these horrible, useless memories?”  Ulquiorra collapsed on the ground, numb.  Lost.

                The young man cocked his head to the side, looking somewhat amused.  “You don’t understand?”

                “Fool,” Ulquiorra spat.  “Of course not.  I have been unable to understand anything that has been happening lately.  If you were indeed me, you would know that.”

                A mirror materialized in front of Ulquiorra, out of the white mist that surrounded them in all directions.  In it, he saw his reflection.  It changed from his regular form, to his Resurreccion form, to this new, fur-and-claws-and-leaking fluid form.  As the image shifted, the young man spoke to him.

                “See the marks, the tear-stains on your face?  It is your sadness.  It is your mourning.  It is your grief.  The emptiness is such a part of you, it can be seen.  But look now,” he said, touching the black, sticky fluid flowing down Ulquiorra’s cheek, rubbing it between his fingertips.

                “What is it then, tears?”  Ire was rising in Ulquiorra against the young man.  This game was growing tiresome.

                He responded instead with a question. “How do you expel something like emptiness?  How do you get rid of a hole?”

                Ulquiorra’s eyes widened in disbelief as realization fell upon him.  “You… fill it,” he replied in a quivering whisper.

                The young man’s eyes shone.  “Indeed.  I think you see now.”

                Ulquiorra covered his hollow hole with a clawed hand.  “It is… Emptiness?  Emptiness leaking out of me?”

                “As it is displaced.”

                “By… Her…”  Ulquiorra looked down and away, wonderstruck.  “But why all this pain?  Why has it been so unbearable that I wished to die?”

                The young man shrugged.  “The Segunda Etapa, second stage release of your Ressurreccion, is proof that you are changing.  You alone, among your brethren the Espada, stand poised to overcome your creation.  To evolve beyond the circumstance which created you.  Change is difficult.  It is painful.  You  _are_  dying, really, to what you are.  But in order to do that, you must find a reason to live.  And something, or someone,  _worth_  dying for.  You have been divided in yourself.  You want to give up, to quit.  To stop feeling all this pain and give yourself over completely to the emptiness.  But at the same time, you want something better instead, and with that comes strife.  You are at war, trying to kill yourself again, one half to overtake the other.”

                Ulquiorra stared blankly.  “Which…  Which half will win?”

                The young man shook his head.  “You have to decide that for yourself.  I made my choice in the past.  When I died, it was an act of selfishness, and that is what caused the emptiness to consume me.  I longed for it.  I called to it.  It was better than the pain I knew.”

                “The pain…”  Ulquiorra narrowed his eyes, looking sharply up at the young man.  “Love ends in pain.  I remember this now.  It was the unbearable loss that made me turn to the emptiness and embrace it.  The love was not worth the price of loss I paid.”

                “Maybe not for me.  Maybe not then,” whispered the young man.  He began to fade away, and instead, Ulquiorra saw Orihime’s face hazily in the distance.  “But maybe for you, now, to love anew…”

                Ulquiorra felt that his chest would tear in half.  The young man came back into view.  “Can you lay it down?  Can you lay the past to rest, and begin again?”

                He was silent for a while, searching inside himself for the answer.  “I think that part of me fears it,” Ulquiorra confessed at last.  “Fears the pain.”

                “There will be pain either way,” the young man told him, crouching down and placing a hand on Ulquiorra’s shoulder.  “Love sometimes ends in pain.  This is true.  But loneliness is constant pain.  Emptiness is constant pain.  Isn’t it better to have loved, to have been filled for a while?  To have those memories of the good times?”  Images flashed before them, times before the deaths, of people happy.  Together.  Fulfilled.

                He felt the hand of Orihime reaching out to him. 

                Ulquiorra reached back for it.

                “Yes.  It is better,” Ulquiorra whispered.  “It is better to not be alone.  However briefly a moment.  It is better.”

                The young man smiled, and knelt before Ulquiorra. “Then do what you have to do,” the young man told the Espada.

                Ulquiorra stood.  He turned his blade around, so the hilt faced the soul of the young man.  He spoke the words to perform the Konso, or soul burial ritual, and tapped the young man on the forehead with the end of the hilt.

                The spirit evaporated into particles of light.  He smiled, and said, “Thank you for giving me peace.  Go now, live, and be filled with life.”

                “You showed me that I had a choice,” Ulquiorra replied as the Reishi dispersed. “Arigato.” 


	2. Decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemon warning... Can be read for just the yummy bits, probably... Skim the first section.

                It was about time for dinner.  Orihime wondered where Ulquiorra was at.  She was elated at the knock on her door, but her countenance fell when she saw that it was an unaccompanied Fraccion with her tray; Ulquiorra was not there.

                She could not eat.  Her mind whirled, anxiety tearing her apart inside.   _Where could he be?_ She worried.   _Maybe he’s upset with me.  Maybe he decided he doesn’t want me after all…_ Her eyes scrunched tight and brimmed with tears as a parade of infinite horrors marched increasingly more and more awful possibilities across the theater of her mind.   _What if something happened to him?  What if he’s been punished for fraternizing with me?  What if he’s hurt and bleeding in chains in some dungeon somewhere?_ Orihime lay down on the couch.  She wrapped her arms tightly around her stomach, and rocked as she sobbed.  She wept, and wept, and wept, until no more tears would come, and at long last, she cried herself to sleep.

WWWWWWWWWW

                When Ulquiorra regained consciousness, he sat up, alarmed.  He could sense the time was far later than he would have preferred; well past dinner, when he had told the Woman he would return.  “Damn,” he cursed under his breath as he trekked expeditiously back to Las Noches.

                His original form had returned, and he half wondered if it had all been a strange dream.  But when he reached out for it, the sensation of the new power that had surged through him was still there, distant, riding the edges of his awareness, biding its time; waiting for what, he did not know.

                Ulquiorra was able now to summon at will the recollections of his long-repressed, distant life from the World of the Living.  He could scarcely believe that he had once been human.  He wished that he were able to reconcile with that long-lost part of himself, and become whole again.  His past self from the dream had not been forthcoming with any helpful information as to how he was to go about achieving this.  He wondered indeed if such a thing were even possible.

                Back in the palace, Ulquiorra crept silently into Orihime’s cell.  He stood in the shadows, watching her sleep.  The moonlight from the window sparkled on the salt trails dried to her cheeks, and Ulquiorra cursed himself.  She had been crying again, no doubt because she had been expecting him, and he had not come.

                Orihime stirred lightly in her sleep, and he held his breath.  “Ulqui…orra?” she murmured dreamily.  He was kneeling at her side in an instant, and took her hand in his.  Her eyes opened languidly, and a smile broke over her as the very first thing she saw was his face.

                “You came,” she mumbled happily, her voice cracking with sleep as she rubbed a balled fist against her bleary eyes.

                “Please, forgive my lateness,” he implored.  Orihime smiled in that soft way of hers, and sat up on her elbows, patting the couch as in invitation for him to sit.

                He did sit, but was bewildered when Orihime lay her head in his lap, and curled back up into a ball, closing her eyes, content.  “I forgive you,” she yawned.  “But what happened?”

                Ulquiorra opened his mouth to explain, but then thought of the frightening appearance of his Segunda Etapa, and decided a more simplistic approach was in order.  “I needed time to… sort some things out.”

                Orihime nodded understandingly.  She opened her eyes again and started up at him.  “You don’t think I was being too forward, do you?” she queried.  “Earlier, I mean, in the bathroom.  I’m sorry if I was making a fool of myself, or reading into things, seeing something that wasn’t there,” she apologized, stumbling over her words.

                Ulquiorra thought for a few moments.  “My response was genuine,” he finally confessed.  Her face was overcome with shock, and he continued.  “Please also forgive my forwardness.  It is unlike me.  I, too, have never… ‘Been with anyone… like that,’ as you put it.”  More shock from Orihime, melting into a soft, shy grin as the apology registered in her brain.

                She snuggled into him.  “Would you stroke my hair?” she requested.  His lithe fingers combed dutifully through the golden tresses, and she sighed with contentment.

                “Ulquiorra,” she asked without warning, “Do you ever feel lonely?”

                He pondered the question.  “Loneliness is a human condition,” he finally replied.  “I am not human.”

                She chewed on her lip, her brow furrowed.  “But were you, once?”

                Ulquiorra slanted his eyes sharply down at her, his hand freezing in his repetitive motions over her hair.  “Why do you ask this, Woman?”

                “Well,” she reasoned, “Hollows were once people, just like what happened to my brother.  And Arrancar are evolved Hollows.  So I just thought…”  She left the sentence hanging awkwardly.

                “You thought…  What?” Ulquiorra prodded.

                “Well, that maybe…”  she looked up to meet his gaze.  “…maybe you used to be like me.”

                Ulquiorra was taken aback by the precise timing of such an astute observation.  He turned away from her, his face becoming distant as his mind waded through a flood of memories from his past.

                Orihime’s hand on his cheek brought him back instantly.  She had sat up without his noticing, and she wore a distressed look.  “Are you ok?” she fretted.

                Ulquiorra glanced out the window, over the undulating hills of sand.  “Come with me,” was all he said cryptically.

                Orihime followed Ulquiorra through the halls of Las Noches to an area she had never been before.  Numbered doors lined the corridor, until they came at last to one marked with an elaborate number ‘four.’  She was astonished at the realization that he was taking her to his private chambers.

                He led her across a large, high ceilinged, sparsely furnished room.  They moved out though gauzy curtains onto a wide, open terrace.  Below, not far in the distance, she could see an area that looked severely damaged; the sand had been heated to the point it had vitrified into an irregularly shaped pool of glass, and a huge rock formation showed evidence of having one side of it sheared off at high temperature.

                Ulquiorra nodded toward the area.  “This… is why I did not come,” he confided.

                She ambled to the railing, almost as if in shock, her eyes taking it all in but her mind straining to comprehend.  “Did you… fight someone… out there?”

                “Yes.”

                “Who?”  She turned and searched his face.  Her eyes filled with sadness at his reply.

                “Myself.”

                Now it was Orihime’s turn to ask, “What do you mean?”

                Ulquiorra stared off into the distance, far past the scarred desert below.  “I stand at the threshold, on the precipice of something greater.  I am at war within myself.  I cannot remain, but I do not know how to move forward from this place.”

                She came back to his side and slipped her hand unexpectedly into his, entwining her fingers.  He looked down at their hands, then up at her, curious about the gesture but deciding it felt pleasant.  “Why did you bring me here?” she implored.

                Ulquiorra opened his mouth to speak, then paused, glancing around, and shook his head.  “I do not know.  There is much these days I find myself at a loss to comprehend.  It is complicated, and unwelcomed.  I long to return to a simpler time.  This struggle within me is intolerable.  It is as though I will be torn in half.  I am in physical pain much of the time, as a result of it.”

                Orihime was awed and touched at his confiding in her.  “What is the war about?” she gently prodded.

                Ulquiorra looked down, scuffing the ground with the toe of his boot, then at their hands, tangled together.  He glanced briefly up at her as he confessed, “You.”

                Her jaw slackened, and she was bewildered.  “Me?  What?  Why…”

                Ulquiorra gave her a feral glare, and gripped her fingers tighter.  “You know, Woman.”

                Orihime lay her hand on his chest.  “Do you mean…  You have feelings for me?”

                Her touch made him feel a tingling throughout his body.  Not able to look her in the eye, he stared down still at his boots.  “It is as you say.”

                The wind whistled, whipping their uniforms around their ankles.  Lost in his inner turmoil, Ulquiorra completely forgot his surroundings again, until he felt her lean against him.  Standing on tiptoe, she whispered into his ear, “You don’t have to fight anymore.  Surrender.  Just let it happen.”

                Her lips found his, and she drew him back into the moment, as she always seemed to be able to do when he was a million miles away.  Ulquiorra wrapped his arms around the woman-  _My Woman,_ he thought.  He lifted her easily, and carried her back to his room, laying her tenderly on the bed.  He sidled up to her and lay down himself, caressing her face, covering it in kisses.  She grew breathless, and tugged at the high collar of his jacket.  He unzipped it a few inches, and she pulled it further, revealing his Hollow hole, and the number four tattoo on the left of his chest.  Her fingers traced the stark black against his white flesh, and slid over to run with gently curiosity around the rim of his Hollow hole.

                He shuddered, and came up on his arms, leaning over her and pinning her body partially under his to the green satin sheets.  She could have escaped, if she had wanted to, but it was clear to him now what she wanted.  He pressed his mouth to hers, and slid his tongue over her lips, begging entrance.  Orihime complied, and her tongue slid against his as they kissed deeply.

                She pulled back and began to kiss his face, her tongue darting out to lick at his skin now and then.  She moved down his neck, then chest, and traced his tattoo again, but with her tongue this time.  Ulquiorra gasped in pleasure, and she continued the delicate licking around the edge of his hole. 

                He surprised himself with a guttural moan as his body twitched spasmodically at her touch.  He buried his face in her neck and hair, inhaling her deeply, something he had always wanted to do, since the first day he had seen her.  He could not get enough of her erotic scent, and nuzzled the soft skin there, licking and nipping at her neck.

                She writhed and cried out at the touch of his teeth, “Oh, Ulquiorra…  Yes.”

                He was thrilled by the sound of his name on her lips, and he bit her more forcefully then through the collar of her dress, her cries of ecstasy urging him on.  A metallic taste caused him to draw back, and he could see she was bleeding slightly through her uniform.  “You are injured,” he fretted by way of apology, and moved to get her a cloth to tend the wound, but she clutched at him with a feverish intensity, licking her own blood from his lips as she pulled him down into a passionate kiss.

                Realizing that Orihime could not care less about the laceration at this moment, Ulquiorra decided it was not important to him either.  There would be time later to clean it up, and it was only a small wound, after all.

                Her fingers slid along the sides of his ribs, under his jacket, and around to his back.  She raked her nails up his sides, and he hissed, bucking against her.  Her tongue lapped again at the edges of his Hollow hole, and her fingers traced a mirror image on his back.  Reaching the height of the hole, she feathered her fingertips across the tops of his shoulders, which sent shivers of pleasure down Ulquiorra’s spine, then deliberately clawed her nails down his back.  Hard.  Ulquiorra roared, like an animal in a cage, begging to be let out.

                Orihime rolled him over and pinned Ulquiorra to the bed, biting at his neck as he had bitten at hers.  He moaned and his eyes rolled back in his head, as if in a trance.  She did not bite him hard enough to draw blood, but almost.  Teeth marks riddled his neck and shoulders, as though he had been chewed upon by some beast.

                He pulled her tightly against him, and cupped her round buttock firmly in his free hand as he pushed his tongue past her lips.  He could feel her inhale sharply as he massaged the area, and she seemed to melt into him.

                His growing hardness strained against her stomach, and she arched her back to press into him.  It was Ulquiorra’s turn then to gasp, and he grabbed her wrists as he rolled over again on top of Orihime, holding them above her head.

                Her cheeks were flushed, and her hair stuck to the beads of sweat on her face.  Her eyes were half-lidded, stupefied by rapture, and she gaped for air.  Ulquiorra rolled her over on her stomach, and held her down.  She began to protest, but his breath hot on her ear silenced her.  “Shhh,” he cajoled.  She felt his fingers on the zipper of her uniform, and she squirmed uncontrollably, looking back at him worriedly.  “Shhh,” he reprimanded her, stopping his hand, “Be still, and silent, or I shall stop.  Do you understand?”

                She made no move, and no sound but the fevered panting of her breath.  Ulquiorra nuzzled her ear gently and whispered, “I will not hurt you.”

                Her face lay to the side, on the pillow, and through the tangled mess of her hair she glared up at him with hungry eyes, daring him to go on.

                Ulquiorra unzipped the neck of her uniform only an inch or two.  His tongue licked lightly at the nape of Orihime’s neck, and she shuddered, struggling to keep herself from defying his command.  He nibbled gently for several minutes, and then pulled the zipper ever so slowly down, only two more inches.

                Her collar had opened enough then that he could see the place where he had broken the skin.  It was indeed very small, and had already stopped bleeding.  He licked a slow circle around it, and felt her trembling beneath him.  He ground his hips into her ample back side through their clothing, and pressed his tongue forcefully against her skin.  Orihime seized the sheets beneath her, clenching them tightly in her fists, hyperventilating, watching his every move.

                Ulquiorra smiled a little, which startled Orihime almost more than the intensity of the pleasure she was experiencing under his touch.  For claiming to never have lain with a woman before, she felt surprised that he was such a skillful lover, so able to know exactly what pleased her.

                 _It is exactly like playing a violin,_ Ulquiorra thought as he traced feathery-light fingertips on her bare back.   _I touch her and listen for the sound…_ She bit her lip to keep from calling out, and her breath came in jagged gasps.   _...And then sustain, or change the notes..._ He lowered the zipper a few more inches.   _It is music, and we are making it together,_ he realized, and ran his tongue along her exposed side.

                Orihime did cry out at that; an anguished whimper, and Ulquiorra, true to his word, froze, and sat very still.

                “I’m so sorry!  I didn’t mean to…  Please, don’t stop,” she begged.  Orihime tried to roll over, but he held her down still with a strong arm as he straddled her hips, propped up on his right elbow alongside her body.

                “Shhh,” he chided, and she calmed herself again.  Ulquiorra actually grinned at this.  He found the situation to be terribly amusing suddenly, even as it was erotic, and turned his head to the side so she would not see it.  He was surely receiving pleasure from it- the growing wetness on the front of his hakama attested to that.  But a touch of formerly unknown mischief had arisen in him, and the strangest thing about it was how completely un-strange it felt to him.  So completely natural.  So easy.  There was no pain now, no struggle or strife.  He felt completely at peace in the moment.

                 _Can it be so simple?_ he asked himself as he puffed hot breath on Orihime’s side.   _Surely it must be more complicated than… this._ He slid his hands under her body and teased her nipples, his thumbs drawing slow circles on the sides of her breasts.  He couldn’t believe it had been as easy as she had said.  Just stop fighting it.  Surrender.  Surrender to the emotion.

                He allowed her to roll over, and her kiss was fierce, which startled him initially.  He pulled back and gave her a somewhat incredulous look, and an impish grin.

                Orihime was taken completely off guard.  This was almost an entirely different person.  The dark, messy hair, green eyes, pale skin, Hollow hole, Espada tattoo…  He  _looked_  the same, but there was a playfulness about him, a completely alien demeanor compared to the Ulquiorra from a few minutes ago.

                “Who are you?”  she asked with trepidation.

                Ulquiorra smiled.  “I am myself.”

                Orihime seemed to have an understanding then, not in full, but she sensed it enough to share in the elation that lit up his face.  She sat up and hugged him tight, kissing him all over his face, and he melted against her, both of them devolving into joyous, incredulous laughter.

                “Someone who can love you back,” Ulquiorra whispered to her, and she swallowed down a lump in her throat when she could see the sincerity in his eyes.

                “But how?” she asked.

                Ulquiorra grinned, and pushed her back playfully onto the bed.  “I laid it down,” he laughed.

                She laughed too.  “Really?  Is that all it took?”

                He thought about it for a few moments, and then said, “I think partly.  The bigger part.  The problem was just letting it go.”  Ulquiorra took her hand and held it over his chest, over his hole.  “The aspect of death that I signify is emptiness.  You have filled that.  I am no longer what I was.”

                Orihime smiled, and tears brimmed up in her eyes.  “I’m so happy,” she said, and clutched him tight.

                This new Ulquiorra was not fierce, Orihime learned quickly.  He was gentle. Joyful.  There was no more clawing that night, no more biting, except for playful, tickling nibbles.   _This is how I wanted it to be,_ she thought as they kissed and stroked each other’s bodies tenderly.  Gone was the feeling of being prey to a predator.  She felt on equal terms to him now.  Every aspect of him, aside from his physical appearance, was completely human.  She could almost forget that he wasn’t.  They were just a couple of awkward young people, in love, and about to make love for the first time.

                He undid his hakama and pulled himself out as she hitched up her skirt.  “Are you sure you want this?” Ulquiorra asked her, worry in his voice.  “It might hurt.”

                Orihime blushed.  “I know.  It’s ok.  I want it.”  She pulled him toward her.  “I want it with you,” she confessed.

                The head of his member slid along the wetness of her slit, and he pressed a finger, exploring to find the opening.  Orihime gave a shudder as he found it, and Ulquiorra grinned, sliding a finger inside slowly. 

                “Oh, Ulquiorra,” she panted.  “That feels so good.”  Her hand reached for him, to reciprocate.  He obliged, positioning himself with his head toward her feet.  She wrapped her fingers around his shaft and slid her hand up and down, mimicking the motions he was making with his finger.

                When he realized what she was doing, it made him grin and shudder.  He pulled his finger out, and she groaned in protest, looking down at him in dismay until she realized his intention.  He slid a different finger into her, probing her wetness, and then returned the first one along with it to the warm depths of her core.  She moaned loudly, and was greeted with him swelling in her hand in response to it.  Droplets of clear, slippery fluid oozed from the tip, and she rubbed them into the head in a circular motion with her thumb.  Ulquiorra threw his head back, electricity shooting through him.

                Orihime couldn’t take it anymore.  “Please,” she whispered.  “Please, please, please…”  She just kept repeating herself, her head lolling from side to side, and Ulquiorra understood.  He turned around and climbed on top of her, kissing her passionately as they both tried to catch their breath.

                Ulquiorra sat up and hesitated for a moment, his eyes probing hers.  “Are you very sure?”

                “Yes,” she sighed, wrapping her legs around his hips, trying to pull him toward her.

                He guided the tip of himself into the wet opening, and very slowly he pressed further in until he met resistance.  He looked worriedly at her again, and she pursed her lips, nodding emphatically as she clenched her eyes tight.

                With a stabbing thrust, Ulquiorra felt something in her give way, and she cried out with, “AH!”  He stilled himself, and they lay together for a minute or two, until Orihime began to make small gyrations against him again.

                He moved slowly, knowing that the first time is more painful for a woman than for a man.  Her pain shortly gave way to ecstasy though, and her attempts to muffle her wailing into a bed pillow were only partly successful.

                “Oh, Ulqui… ORRA!” she shrieked as she finally orgasmed.  The sensation of her contracting inside around him caused him to rush to his own release.  He fell on her heaving chest, both of them utterly spent.  They both shuddered as he separated from her, and he pulled the sheets over them, holding her close.

                “Good night, Ulquiorra,” she whispered, content.

                He kissed her lips tenderly.  “Good night, Orihime,” he replied.  “I love you.”  She smiled as she drifted off to sleep in his arms.

WWWWWWWWWW

                The next day, Ulquiorra was already up and getting showered in his private bath when Orihime awoke.  A fresh uniform hung beside the bed for her over the back of a chair, with a white long stemmed rose laid across the lap of the uniform, on the seat of the chair.  She smiled, and picked up the rose and the uniform, sniffing the flower.  She hummed something happy to herself as she skipped off to the bathroom.

                Ulquiorra was just finishing up as she came in.  “There is plenty of hot water remaining for you,” he said as he stepped out of the shower door, wrapping a towel around his waist.

                Orihime noticed the difference immediately.  His whole demeanor had changed.  He was as he had been when she had first come here; formal, cold, and removed.  She stopped him as he went past, her hand on his wrist.

                Ulquiorra turned and looked blankly at her.  “What is the matter?”

                Her brow furrowed.  “I don’t know, you tell me,” she suggested in a hurt tone.

                Ulquiorra cocked his head inquisitively to the side.  “What is the meaning of this, Woman?”

                She threw the uniform at him in anger.  “Are you kidding me?  You’re so… inaccessible.  I’ve heard of this, after a guy and a girl are together, that he gets what he wants and then pushes her away…”  Tears welled up in her eyes again, and she crumpled on the floor.

                He went to her, wrapping his arms around her, cradling her as she sobbed.  “I am as I have always been,” Ulquiorra reassured her, seemingly confused.

                Orihime continued to sob, and pushed him away, turning her head so he would not see her face as she cried.  Ulquiorra grabbed her wrist forcefully, and she gasped, whirling back around at him.  “Let me go,” she sniffled.

                “Tell me, what is the matter,” he demanded.

                Orihime pulled feebly, trying to free her arm from his vice-like grip.  “You got what you wanted,” she accused.  “Now let me go.  You’re hurting me.”

                “What do you mean by this?” Ulquiorra growled, the threatening undertone of his words stilling her instantly.

                “You’ve changed,” she insisted.  “Last night, you were so sensitive… even happy.  Now you’re cold and distant.  If you don’t really care about me, fine.  But don’t play head games like this with me.  It’s cruel.”

                Ulquiorra bristled at the sting of her words, staring off, lost in thought.  His grip loosened momentarily on Orihime’s arm, and she jerked it free, rubbing mournfully at her wrist.

                Ulquiorra stood briskly, and offered his hand to help Orihime to her feet as well.  “It is as you say, Woman,” he told her, “I am indeed different, though not for the reasons you state.”

                “Then why?” Orihime pleaded, pounding her fists on his chest as she fell against him, gazing tearfully up into Ulquiorra’s jade eyes.

                He wrapped his arms around her.  “I am not entirely sure.  But please know, my love for you is true, even if I am unable to communicate it clearly,” he offered.

                Her fears sated for the moment, Orihime rubbed her head against Ulquiorra’s bare chest, sighing as the last of her tears quelled themselves.  She began to plant tiny soft kisses over his Espada tattoo.  Ulquiorra shuffled his feet uncomfortably.  “Woman,” he whispered into her ear, “you are making me embarrassed.”

                “Huh?” Orihime looked around, perplexed, until Ulquiorra shifted his towel-clad loins into her stomach, and she felt the firmness growing under there.  “Oh!”  She laughed, and pulled at his hand, dragging him back toward the bed, encouraged rather than reprimanded by his words.

                “You will hurt yourself, Woman,” he chided.  “You body requires time to heal.”

                Orihime pressed herself against Ulquiorra’s body, and he felt his resolve melting away just as surely as his arousal grew.  Her tongue on his throat was met with his sharp intake of breath.  “Orihime,” he scolded her softly, “You  _must_ rest.  I do not wish to injure you further.”

                “You won’t have to,” she replied mysteriously, grinding her stomach against his towel, eliciting a small moan of pleasure from him.

                “If we engage in intercourse a second time, so close to your first, you will surely sustain further bodily harm,” Ulquiorra explained, not sure how convincing he sounded, given his present desire for her.

                Orihime kissed around his Hollow hole, remembering how sensitive that area seemed to be, and she felt him swell as she laid her hand on his member through the towel.  He let out another moan, and her other hand traced up his spine and around the edges of the hole on his back.

                She pushed him back a few steps, and he lost his footing, falling back onto the bed.  She knelt beside the bed and reached under the towel, gently stroking his scrotum.

                “Wo… man…” he gasped, his eyes half-closing in ecstasy.  “What are you doing?”

                “Pleasuring you.”  Orihime smiled, and folded back the corner of the towel, revealing the white, glistening head of his erect penis.  She had heard of oral sex at school, and knew that the boys supposedly enjoyed it, but she had never of course done anything like this herself.  Her boldness was a front; she was nervous, unsure exactly what to do.  She glanced somewhat dubiously at his member, and then moved closer.

                Sensing her hesitation, Ulquiorra stopped her.  “You do not have to do this,” he said.

                Orihime smiled.  “I want to…” she trailed off as her tongue slipped out and tentatively lapped at the fluid beaded at the opening.

                Ulquiorra stifled a shocked moan, and threw his head back, lost in the sensation.  Encouraged by his response, Orihime took the tip into her mouth.  He did let out a moan then; guttural, primal, and he writhed on the sheets.  She pressed onto him, taking him inch by inch into her mouth until she had all of him, then began to slowly back off again.  His spasmodic twitching told her she was doing something right, and so she repeated the action, slowly bobbing down and back up the length of him.

                Ulquiorra sat up on his elbows to look at her.  Her long, auburn hair was sticking to the mingled saliva and fluid that glistened along his shaft.  The sight of him disappearing into the soft, warm, moist pocket of her mouth, and sliding back out again, was almost more than he could stand.  Orihime experimentally lapped her tongue broad and flat across the head, like it was an ice cream cone.  Ulquiorra bucked his hips at this, twisting his fingers in the sheets as he arched his back.  “Ohhhhh,” he breathed.

                He looked down at her again as she was pulling away, a strand of his sticky fluid hanging from her lip to his shaft.  She wiped coyly at her mouth with the back of her hand, and then crawled up his body like a hungry tiger, dragging her tongue along him as she made her way up to his mouth to kiss him feverishly.

                Ulquiorra had thought he would be disgusted by the taste of his own fluids on her mouth, but it was quite the opposite.  He found kissing her surprisingly erotic, and the taste itself was not unpleasant.  He kissed her deeply, running his tongue along hers and over her teeth.  She pulled back, breathless, and using his superior strength then, he rolled her over so he was on top.

                Orihime’s eyes widened momentarily as he did this, and he read the anxiety there.  “Do not fear,” he offered.  “I will not hurt you.”  He kissed at her neck, biting more gently than before, and worked his way down to her chest.  Massaging the sides of her breasts firmly in his palms, he rolled his tongue in circles, tracing around her left nipple.

                “Oh, Ulquiorra,” she panted.  His fingers mirrored the stimulation on the other nipple until he switched sides, giving the attention of his lips and tongue to the neglected breast.  He suckled and nibbled gently there, as her eyes rolled crazily in her head.  She ran her fingers through her own hair, moaning eagerly.

                Kneeling between her thighs, he pressed his muscular abdomen firmly against the bundle of nerves at the apex of her opening.  She responded in kind, grinding back against his stomach.  His fingers traced the instep of her left foot, up to her ankle, her calf, the back of her knee, the inside of her thigh, and the curve of her buttock.  She uttered a cry of anguish, arching in anticipation as he stroked her velvet folds lightly with a finger.

                Ulquiorra then moved his mouth to Orihime’s left foot, kissing and licking the instep, and biting gently.  If not for his strength and quick reaction time, she would have inadvertently kicked his teeth in at the unexpected, tickly pleasure.  He paused at her ankle, licking hard and sucking at the soft flesh there.  She began to melt at this, and her chest heaved with a deep sigh of contentment.

                With feathery kisses, he moved up the inside of her calf to the back of her knee, where he pulled her leg up and proceeded to lick and suck as he had at her ankle.  Glancing at her eyes, he could see that she wanted him badly, but he would not concede.  He dreaded the thought of harming her; it was positively abhorrent to him.  He continued up the inside of her thigh with his teasing kisses.  When he reached her loins, he paused at the crease where her leg met her hip, and traced the seam line up across the front of her hip with his tongue.  Orihime gasped and writhed in ecstasy as he pressed his mouth hard into the crevice, licking and sucking at it as though it were already her hot, wet slit he was upon.

                As Ulquiorra passed over the meridian of her body, he paused, huffing hot air onto her clitoris, grazing it with a soft, quick flick of his tongue.  It was a taunting reminder of things to come, as he passed it by and moved down to her right foot, repeating the process of mouthing her pulse points.  He did this slowly and passionately, taking his time.  She was so fevered by the time he had finished at her other hip, she was nearly delusional.

                Ulquiorra planted his hands firmly on Orihime’s thighs to hold her down, and breathed hot puffs of air again on the swollen nub at her center.  He did a quick visual inspection of her folds for any signs of trauma or damage from the previous night.  She was swollen, clearly, but that could just as easily have been from the present excitement, and judging from the fluid that was beginning to seep from her, he determined that was the most likely cause.

                He pointed his tongue and barely grazed her as he traced the length of her nether-lips, up and down each side, and in tiny circles around her clitoris. His tongue slid along her opening, darting in and out.  She let out a mewling cry at the introduction of his tongue.  Orihime tangled her fingers in his ebony locks as she tried to pull his face harder into her, but Ulquiorra kept at his slow, steady, controlled pace.  As her fingers clutched at his hair, her right hand found the hard bone half-helm of his Hollow mask.  He froze, and she could feel him shudder under the touch.  She traced her fingers along the bony ridges of the helm, scraping her fingernails lightly up the horn to the very tip.  She was pleased immensely to watch the reaction in him, almost as strong as if she had been fondling his member.  His concentration on the task at hand lapsing, his eyes clouded over and his head bowed.  She reveled at the opportunity, and pushed herself up on her elbows to lick and suck at the horn, eliciting gasps and shudders from Ulquiorra, who had never known before now that his mask was so sensitive.  She mouthed the ridged plates along the side, and then moved down to his ear.

                Momentarily distracted, Ulquiorra absently reached a free hand down to stroke himself as she continued to lick and suck at him.  When Orihime saw what he was doing, she made a disappointed sound, and reached for him herself.  “Let me,” she pleaded.  He was happy to oblige her, moving up onto the bed so they could lie side by side and pleasure each other at the same time.

                Orihime took his member again in her mouth, silently vowing not to finish before him.  Ulquiorra decided about that same time that his tongue was no longer a satisfactory tool to perform the required task, and stroked a finger along her moist opening, begging entrance.  She moaned and pressed herself onto it, impaling herself on his hand as he stroked in and out, searching inside her for the spot that would bring her climax.  It was already becoming a difficult vow to fulfill, as she knew he had found the sweet spot he had been searching for, causing her to lose all focus and concentration on pleasuring him, lost in her own sensations.  She fell to the side, wallowing in the ecstasy of his masterful touch.  As his fingers strummed inside of her, his mouth worked the tiny, sensitive outer nub.

                “Ohhhhhhh,” she sighed, squirming against him.  “Say my name,” she begged.

                “Orihime,” he whispered lustily.  She writhed.  “Orihime,” he repeated, and she began to pant heavily.

                “Oh, Ulquiorra, that feels sooo good…”

                “Orihime,” he purred again, and her breath quickened.

                “Ohhh, Ulquiorra,” she moaned.  “I’m…  I’m going to…  OOOOOOHHH!!” Orihime’s long, drawn-out moan intensified into a scream as she thrashed on the sheets in release, her thighs clenching tight around his hand as she exploded inside in convulsing waves.  Her wailing slowly reduced to panting and whimpers of pleasure as he occasionally twitched his fingers, causing her little orgasmic aftershocks.

                She pulled him up beside her, kissing him drowsily and holding him close.  She smiled, feeling completely content, and he returned the smile.

                Orihime’s eyes shot open then, and she sat up.  “There!” she shouted.

                Ulquiorra looked around.  “There what?” he asked, confused.

                She brought her hand to his cheek, and stroked it lightly.  “That’s it,” she realized.  “Don’t you see how different you are now?”

                He thought for a moment, and then the realization overcame him as well.  “You’re right,” he grinned.  “But why?”

                Her hand sought out the softening lump between his legs, and she wrapped her fingers firmly around it, smiling as he gasped and closed his eyes, thrusting reflexively into her hand with a moan.

                “I think it’s this,” she said, continuing to stroke him.

                “My penis?” he asked laughingly.

                “No…”  Orihime leaned down, lapping at him again, eliciting a slightly louder moan this time.  “I think it’s the pleasure.”

                He gazed at her, wonderstruck.  “How can that be?”

                “Didn’t you tell me your aspect of death was emptiness?” she asked.  He nodded.  She sucked and licked at him, and his head lolled back as he bit his lip, panting.  “But you feel that?”

                He grinned sarcastically.  “Of course.”

                “But how is that possible, if you  _are_ emptiness?” she implored.  “Somehow, it’s overcoming the emptiness, or filling you,” she reasoned.

                Ulquiorra began to ponder the possibility of this, but didn’t get very far, because Orihime fell on him, licking and sucking, which was terribly distracting to him.  He resigned himself to working out the mystery of this later, and gave himself completely over to the hungry hands and mouth of his woman.


	3. Separated

              Much later, after they had both washed up (again) and Orihime had been returned to her cell in clean clothes, Ulquiorra sat alone in his chamber on a cushion.  His Zanupakto was laid across his lap, and his eyes were closed in concentration.  Ulquiorra had heard of the Shinigami technique of Jinzen, or “Sword Meditation,” and it was this now that he was attempting.  He knew that he was not a Soul Reaper, but perhaps he could borrow their technique to shed some light on his recent dilemma.

                It was not long before he found himself walking in mist.  Whereas last time the mist had been white, this mist was dark.  It seemed that no light shone in here, but still he was able to see.  He felt something move swiftly past him in the black, and heard the sound of wings.

                “Show yourself,” Ulquiorra commanded.

                Ulquiorra felt the snap of a whip strike him in the middle of his back, knocking him to his knees.  “You are an unworthy master,” an icy voice called condescendingly from the darkness.  “I will rule over you.”  He saw his Segunda Etapa step out of the mist, glaring down at him, disdain evident in his face.

                “You  _are_  me.  We are one,” Ulquiorra snarled, getting up on one knee only to have his ankle yanked out from under him again.

                “Don’t make me laugh,” the other leered, crossing his arms pensively.

                “Who are you, then?” Ulquiorra demanded.

                “I am Murcielago!” the creature hissed, his voice echoing coldly through the mist, a chill that cut Ulquiorra to the bone.

                “But you are part of me,” he insisted, still trying to regain his feet.  Murcielago snapped them out from under him again, knocking him back to his knees.

                “Stay down, where you belong,” Murcielago seethed.  “Know your place, trash.  I am what you had the potential to become, in purest form.  Instead, I was brought out because of your weakness!  In contrast to these irreconcilable…  _feelings…_ ” he spat the word as though it left a foul taste in his mouth, and he could not be rid of it soon enough, “for this weak, disgusting human.”

                Ulquiorra glared up at Murcielago.  This was not going at all as he had planned.  “You are my highest potential, you say?”

                “Indeed, and by… fornicating… with that mortal, you have devolved into a weaker, inferior creature.”  Murcielago turned his back on Ulquiorra.  “You de-evolution has spurred my own evolution.”

                “Evolution is a matter of opinion,” Ulquiorra barked, trying to get to his feet again.  This time, when the whip-like tail came at him, he was ready.  He drew steel on it, and easily deflected the attack.

                “It is fact!” Murcielago snapped.  “You have diverted from your original purpose, and meaning of existence!”

                “By your own rationale, it is I who has evolved, then,” Ulquiorra insisted.

                “LIES!” Murcielago shrieked, and flew at Ulquiorra.  Ulquiorra deflected the claws and whip with his sword, and stood at the ready as the demon escaped into the mist.  The chilling voice called to him from the void, in all directions.  “I am pure emptiness, and you stand at odds with me now, allowing this human to fill you with deceit.”

                Ulquiorra glowered into the darkness.  “Love is not deceit.”

                Murcielago stalked out of the haze toward Ulquiorra.  “You think not?” he leered.  “You disgust me, going so far as to even use that abhorrent word.  You become more human under her spell of seduction, but as it wears off, you revert afterwards to your natural, proper state.  It is your natural state that is the truth, not the witchcraft she casts over you. Tell me this, weakling- would the human still love you if she saw…  this?” Murcielago snapped his wings open dramatically, spreading his arms in a taunt.

                Ulquiorra offered no reply.  No doubt, the woman would see him as a monster, this he knew.

                “Watch your step, Ulquiorra,” Murcielago warned.  “You and I are no longer in alignment.  One day, you will call on my power, and you will have become careless, and make a false step.”  The whip of the tail unexpectedly jerked Ulquiorra’s foot out again, and he cursed as he hit his knee.  “That day will be your downfall.  I shall gain the upper hand, and you shall be overthrown.  Then it shall be you spending eternity here in the void of this inner world.”  Murcielago gripped Ulquiorra’s jaw in his sharp talons, yanking his face up.  “We shall remain in contention until that day.”  He smirked as the Espada tore free from the creature’s claws.  “You shall know no peace until you lay down this foolish pursuit of ‘heart,’ and ‘happiness.’  There is no reconciliation to be found, but that of the void.”

                From the darkness, Ulquiorra felt a suffocating, pressing around him.  The mist seemed to permeate his body, and a numbness began to overtake him.  Empty nothingness.  Something familiar, and almost comforting, about this place.  He felt the darkness condensing, becoming him, even as it surrounded him.  “Remember,” Murcielago whispered in an echo.  “Remember where you came from.”

                He stood at last, and found himself in a pit.  He was different.  Weaker.  But stronger still than those around him.  They were tearing something apart, over there.  Maybe eating something.  The others were black.  He was all in white.  When he stood, he drew their attention.  They came with shining eyes and sharp teeth, to fall on him, as they had upon the others.

                Fools.

                The void opened and consumed them.

                He crawled out the pit.  Felt nothing.  Only the void.  He could hear nothing.  Bite nothing.  Smell nothing.  Feel nothing that he touched.  He could not rest.  He had no companion.  Just walking, alone.

                The things that reflected in his eyes had no meaning, and the things that could not be reflected in his eyes, did not exist to him.

                Walking.

                Walking.

                Walkling.

                Walking for…  How long? 

                It did not matter.  Time could not be seen.  It did not exist to him.

                Then he arrived at the thought that he had found something extraordinary.

                It was the birthplace of those strange, translucent object that dotted this world.  The crystalline trees.  It was the first time his eyes had been captured by anything.

                It had no color.  No sound.  So scent.

                It did not interact with anything.

                It only existed there.

                It was the closest thing to void he had ever seen.

                He sank his body into the hollow cavity of it.

                There was nothing there.  He lost his line of vision with the world, and allowed himself to dissolve into the nothingness.  And he felt as if everything had disappeared.

                Happiness…

                “If such a thing called happiness exists in the world,” Murcielago coaxed, “It should be something which resembles the limitless nothingness.  Nihility is having nothing, and having nothing to lose.  If that isn’t ‘happiness,’ then what is?”

                The illusion faded, and Ulquiorra shook his head.  “Love.  Love is happiness.  Nothingness is… nothing.”

                “Can’t you see, even now?  Void, within void.  That is our purpose.  That is where peace is to be found.”

                “No.  That is not what I saw at all.  I saw myself alone, seeking a kindred spirit.  Something like myself.  And something to complete, by filling it, thus giving myself purpose.” Ulquiorra frowned at Murcielago.  “We fill one another, Orihime and I.”

                “Such nonsense,” sighed Murcielago.  “You are hopeless, and a fool.  I cannot help you.  You have become blind, your vision clouded by this asinine path of weakness you persist in pursuing.  It would have been better had you and I been born separate, and I alone had crawled from the pit.  You are unfit for this world.  This ‘heart’ you seek is an illusion, unattainable.”

                “No more than the void,” Ulquiorra said.  “Neither can exist without the other, I see that now.  Nothing cannot exist without _something._ But they are two sides of the same blade; one to hurt, and one to heal.  Thus is my strife, because pure void cannot exist.  Something must fill it.  By its nature, it exists to be filled, just as the heart exists to fill it.”

                The scene faded, and Ulquiorra opened his eyes.  He was disappointed at the outcome of the Jinzen.  He had hoped for a more satisfactory answer, but clearly, it was not as simple as he was led to think.  He did not believe much of what Murcielago had told him; the demon was mistaken, and he was pleased to learn that the void was separating from him.  He could still hear and feel Murcielago though, swimming below the surface of his consciousness like a shark lurking beneath the water, waiting for a bird to land so he could pull it under and devour it.

                Ulquiorra decided to go visit Orihime.  The woman always had a way to ease his troubles.

                He knocked at her door, and entered.  She smiled, and her lips moved, but he could not hear her words.  She looked puzzled and went to him, embracing him as always.  But he could feel nothing now, only the pounding of his heart in his chest.  He felt as though he were in a tunnel, looking at the image from a distance as things began to grow dim.  All he could hear was Murcielago’s cold laughter, as things faded to black.

                When he came to, he was standing in the middle of a hallway.

                Alarmed, he ran to Orihime’s chamber.  She was sitting on her couch, crying again.  Ulquiorra rushed to her side, and knelt, reaching for her hand.  “Whatever was said, whatever was done, please forgive me,” he pleaded.  “I was not myself.  I do not recall the events…”  She stared at him, her eyes searching his face, and then she fell on him, her arms thrown around his neck, her sobs renewed.  “Did he…  Hurt you?”  Ulquiorra was afraid of the answer.

                “I knew it wasn’t you,” she lamented.  “I just didn’t understand why…  What’s going on?”

                He held her tightly.  “I am so sorry.  This is not how I wanted things to go.”

                “But what’s going on?”  She sat back on her heels, drying her eyes with the green silk handkerchief Ulquiorra offered her.

                “I am…  Of two minds, you could say.”  He searched for the best way to explain it to her.  “Here,” he told her, reaching his hand up and touching his eye.  “Do not be afraid,” he cautioned.

                The warning was useless.  She was clearly terrified as she saw him dig his own eye ball out of its socket and crush it, dispersing it into dust which swirled around them.  Images shimmered in the dust, and Orihime saw and felt everything that Ulquiorra needed her to, to explain best to her what had been going on with him recently.  She saw the visions from his inner world, of his human past and of his origins as a Hollow in the pit of the Menos forest.  He did not allow her to see Murcielago, but she learned of his existence, and felt the cold, empty terror of his void.  He felt that the rest of it was already quite a lot to expect her to bear without adding insult to injury, and forcing her to look upon the monster that was within him.

                When the visions stopped, she looked up at him, wonderstruck.  “How did you do that?”

                “Solita Vista,” he told her.  “It is one of my more unusual abilities, made possible by my high-speed regeneration.”  He blinked at her, revealing both eyes were again whole and intact.

                “Oh, thank goodness!”  She let out a huge sigh of relief.  “I know what you said, but…”  She trailed off.

                “I know.  That is why I said it.”  He smiled slightly.  “But you understand now, yes?”

                Orihime nodded grimly.  “Yes.  I understand that you could lose control to him at any time.”

                The quietness hung heavy in the room, nearly tangible, for several minutes.

                “I do not wish to fight your friends,” Ulquiorra told her finally, breaking the silence.  “Even under orders from Lord Aizen.”  When he looked up at her again, she could see the hurt in his eyes.  “But I may have to.”

                “Murcielago?” Orihime asked.

                “Yes.  He will not hesitate to engage them in battle, even to death.”

                Orihime chewed her lip anxiously.  “What about you?”

                Silence.

                “I don’t want you to get hurt…” Orihime sniffled.  Ulquiorra understood the inference she could not bring herself to speak aloud; Hurt, or killed.

                “It is out of my control, at this point,” he told her.  “I shall do my best, but as we have seen, it may not be enough.”

                “One thing I know now though, without a shadow of a doubt…”  She smiled wistfully, and held his hand to her chest.  “I felt how you feel about me.”

                He gasped.  That had not been his intention, but surely it had come through, he realized.   Ulquiorra had never in his existence worried before about being found inadequate in some way, but here in this moment, his soul bared before this woman, it was suddenly a very real concern to him.  He swallowed hard, unsure what to say.

                Orihime giggled.  Ulquiorra was thunderstruck, and slightly annoyed that she was so amused by his obvious distress.  “Oh Ulqui-kun!”  She kissed his hand. “Don’t worry.”

                “Did you find it…”  He fumbled for the right word.  “…Satisfactory?”

                Her peals of laughter disarmed him.  “Of course, of course,” she said dismissively.  He gave a small sigh of relief.  “Were you really so worried?”

                He nodded, pensive again.  She picked up on his seriousness, and they sat quiet for a while.

                “You knew, then, that it was Murcielago who came to you earlier?”

                Orihime nodded.  “I knew it wasn’t you.  I could tell.  It wasn’t even like your usual solemn self.  It was just…”  She shivered at the memory.  “Yes, I could tell.”

                Ulquiorra nodded, satisfied at this.  “You must know, Orihime…  When the time comes...  He will try his best to cause you to despair.”  He did not mistake the look of fear that flashed across her face.  “You must not give in to it.”  He was silent for several seconds.  “He is strong, Orihime.  So strong.  If I do not survive…”

                “Don’t speak of such things…” she began to chide him, pressing her hand over his mouth, but he gripped her wrist angrily and pushed it away.

                “No.  These things must be said.”  She could see how much it pained him, so she let him continue.  “Do not despair.  Fix your mind and your heart on whatever fills you…”  He paused.  “...Other than me.”  He closed his eyes, and turned away.  “If I do not make it, I must know that he did not take you down with me.”  He turned sharply, glaring with an intensity that was punctuated by a glistening of his eyes that hinted of tears.  “Think on your friends, who have come to save you.  Think on halcyon days of your youth.  You must steel your heart against him.  You must remember, though it appears to be my body…  It is him.  It is emptiness.”

                Orihime nodded, silent tears streaming down her cheeks.   _Why does this feel so much like goodbye?_ she wondered.  “But even if that happens,” she sniffled, “I already know that you and I are of one heart.”

                “ _When_ ,” Ulquiorra corrected her softly.  “ _When_  it happens.  Not if.”

                Orihime threw her arms around him, and he buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply, trying to cement himself in this moment.

                He lifted the woman into his arms and carried her to her couch.  He set her down there and lay down so she could nestle into him.  It was not long before she fell asleep.

                Ulquiorra didn’t know how long he lay there, watching her slumber, worrying about things.  He kept running through different possibilities in his mind, and trying to find some kind of solution.  He knew he would ultimately have to fight Ichigo, either as himself or as Murcielago, and that it would be to the death.  It wasn’t something he wanted to do, but it was something he acknowledged as a fact.

                He was terrified of the idea that Murcielago should win, of what would become of Orihime then, once Lord Aizen was done with her.  He was just drifting off to sleep, when a thought awakened him.   _He and I are not aware at the same time._

                Carefully, Ulquiorra crawled out from behind Orihime, and snuck out of the room.  He was on his way to try to strike a desperate deal with the devil.


	4. Settled

                Ulquiorra knocked firmly on the door with the “six” emblazoned on it.  “Fuck, I’m coming, just a second,” a voice yelled from within.

                “It’s me,” Ulquiorra called.  He waited a few minutes, and knocked again.

                “Ok, ok!” Grimmjow growled.  Ulquiorra heard some scuffling, and a few moments later the door burst open.  Loly pushed past, shoved roughly from the room by Grimmjow.  She gave Ulquiorra a nasty sneer as she stumbled, pulling her clothes back on, making evident what Lord Aizen’s aide and the Seis Espada had been up to.

                “What do you want?” Grimmjow turned his back, storming into his room and throwing himself somewhat dramatically on his couch.  Ulquiorra could see the partially remaining erection through Grimmjow’s hakama, but chose to make no comment, focused on the task at hand.

                “I need a favor.”

                Grimmjow’s ice blue eyes widened, and he stilled.  Realizing that this was highly irregular, he dropped his usual cavalier attitude, sat up and leaned in.  “I’m listening.”

                Ulquiorra paced anxiously.  “Things are complicated right now.  I am not myself, and I do not know how much time I have, so I will have to make the explanation brief.”  He took a deep breath.  “I need you to protect Orihime for me.”

                “What?”  Grimmjow was sincerely confused.  He could tell though that the Espada standing before him was in serious distress, which was completely unlike him.  “I thought you just told me the other day, you were supposed to be protecting her from the likes of me.  What the hell is going on, Ulquiorra?”

                “I need you to fight with Ichigo.  To the death.”

                Grimmjow stared hard at the trembling, compact frame of the Cuatra, and smirked a little.  “I was planning to do that anyway.  Me and that asshole have a score to settle.”  He absently ran his fingers over the wide scar emblazoned on his chest.

                “If I kill him first, you must get Orihime to bring him back.”  Ulquiorra’s deadpan face was assurance to Grimmjow that he was not joking around.  “You must fight him, and he must be engaged at full power if this plan is to work.”

                “You’ve gone off your rocker, man,” Grimmjow snickered.  “What the hell are you talking about?”

                Ulquiorra sighed.  “I do not have time for this.  Here.”  He reached up and gouged out his eyeball, crushing it and activating the Solita Vista again.  He showed Grimmjow much of the same information which he had showed to Orihime earlier, leaving out again any actual visuals on Murcielago.

                When it ended, a wide grin overtook Grimmjow’s face.  “Ahh man, you’re screwing her after all!”

                “I was not when you had asked previously,” Ulquiorra replied tersely, ignoring the coarseness of the language.  “You see though how dangerous he is, and I could lose control at any moment.  Will you help me?”

                Grimmjow was thoughtful for a moment.  “You really love her, don’t you?”

                “Yes.”

                Running his fingers though his spiky blue hair, Grimmjow chuckled.  “That is fucked up, man.  You know that, right?”

                “You know that you wished you had someone you felt that way about.”

                The Sexta sighed, looking mournfully toward the door, where he had so roughly sent Loly packing earlier.  “Yeah.”

                “So then you will help me?”

                Grimmjow nodded.  “Yeah.  How is this ‘plan’ of yours supposed to work, though?”

                “I need you to fight him.  If he defeats you, it will make him stronger.  Ichigo is the only one who I think can kill Murcielago, who is a threat to Orihime.  He is an unusual opponent, and I think that once Murcielago faces off against him, he will mark him as his prey.”

                Grimmjow smirked.  “I have dibs on the Shinigami; he’s already been marked.”

                “Listen,” Ulquiorra sighed.  “Murcielago does not know of any of this, I do not think.  He does not become aware of things until he takes control of my consciousness.  You will have to act decisively if you realize he is in control, and make sure that you do engage Ichigo in battle at all costs.”

                “You seem to be banking on the other team,” Grimmjow scoffed. “But what happens to your plan if I defeat Ichigo?”

                Ulquiorra closed his eyes.  “Then all hope is lost.”

                “How does this come out for _you_ , in the end?”  Grimmjow asked.

                “Ideally, Murcielago will be defeated by Ichigo.”

                “Which means…”  Grimmjow had a strange look on his face.

                “…That I will die,” Ulquiorra finished.

                Grimmjow was thunderstruck.  “Seriously?  You don’t want to be with her?”

                “There is no other way, Grimmjow,” Ulquiorra whispered.  “Murcielago will always be there, and he is a threat to her.  It is better this way, and I will know she is safe at least.  If Ichigo is strong enough to defeat Murcielago, I think that he will grow stronger still from that battle, and ultimately be able to defeat Lord Aizen.  He will be strong enough then to protect Orihime for me.”

                “What about Aizen’s plan?” Grimmjow questioned.  “Aren’t you on board with him?”

                Ulquiorra shrugged.  “The Arrancar alliance with Aizen has always been a tenuous one.  You know as well as any of the others that he is using us to his own ends.  We are utterly disposable to him.  Yet all of us serve him willingly, for lack of anything better to do, truth be told.”

                “Yeah.”

                “If any one of us had their own purposes, we would be naturally inclined to follow those.”

                Grimmjow let out a laugh at this.  “Damn straight.  You know me good.”  He was silent for a few moments, lost in thought.  “You’re really going to give up your life for her, then?”

                Ulquiorra nodded.  “Yes.”

                Grimmjow sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck.  “Damn.  That’s impressive.  I mean, I have to say, I never expected anything like that from you, Ulquiorra.”

                “Nor did I.  Things change.”

                Grimmjow nodded.  “It would be nice to have someone like that.”  His soft candor took Ulquiorra off guard.  “I mean, fun and games is great and all…  But…”  He stared up at Ulquiorra.  “Damn.  I hate to admit it, but I’m a little envious of you.”

                “I will take that as a compliment.”  Ulquiorra sat on the other end of the couch.  “Who would you be with, though?”

                Grimmjow got a faraway look, and a slight smile.  “Halibel.”  He kicked his feet up on the low table in front of the couch, and folded his arms behind his head, leaning back and closing his eyes.  “That bitch is so hot.  We’ve been together y’know, in the past.  It’s been a long time.”  He signed.  “You’re right though.  Things change.   _People_ change.  It sucks how you don’t know what you’ve got ‘till it’s gone, know what I mean?  It was just fun and games with me and her back in the day.  But I’ve changed since then.”

                Ulquiorra was doubtful of this, but then he thought of something more disturbing;  _What if he HAS changed?  How much more irresponsible and reckless might he have been back then?_   To consider Grimmjow as ‘mature’ would be absurd by any account, but perhaps compared with who he used to be, he had come a long ways.

                “I wonder if she’d ever give me another chance?”  Grimmjow mused.  His face was deep in thought, and Ulquiorra began to wonder if perhaps love was the key to healing the Hollow in all of them.  Just then, a smirk crept over his face, and Grimmjow leaned toward Ulquiorra, whispering in a confidential tone, “She is a total  _freak_  in bed, just so you know…”

                Ulquiorra rolled his eyes, sighing, and stood to leave.   _So much for love and evolution…_

WWWWWWWWWW

                On his way back to his chambers, Ulquiorra received transmission from a dying Aaroniero Arrurerie, Espada Nine, that he and Rukia Kuchiki had killed eachother.   _Damn,_ Ulquiorra thought to himself.   _Time is already up.  They have arrived at the palace._

                He sensed Ichigo nearby, and stepped into the doorway at the top of a long stairway, leading down into one of the large halls of the palace.  He watched Ichigo, frozen, and realized he was sensing the fading spiritual pressure of his fallen comrade.  “So, you’ve noticed,” Ulquiorra called to him.  Ichigo turned, and stared in terror at the Espada.  “I thought you were a kid who possessed only brute strength.  Amazingly, you have some decent senses.”

                Ichigo stared.  “You’re…”

                “It’s been a while, Soul Reaper.”  Ulquiorra started down the stairs slowly.

                “You’re…  Ulquiorra,” Ichigo asserted.

                “You remember my name.  I don’t think I ever told you my name, though.”  He reached the bottom of the stairs, and stood a short distance from the Soul Reaper.  “Oh well.  Rukia Kuchiki has died.”

                The information seemed to shock Ichigo, even though he had sensed it himself only a few moments before.  “What?!”

                “More accurately, she and Espada number Nine killed each other.  Her whole body was covered in cuts, and she was stabbed by a spear,” Ulquiorra relayed.  “She can’t be alive.”

                “Don’t make assumptions,” Ichigo countered.  “Rukia’s spiritual pressure only decreased just now.  You weren’t even fighting her.  There’s no way that you would know…”

                “Synchronized Awareness…”  Ulquiorra cut him off.  “That was one of Espada Number Nine’s abilities, as well as one of his roles.  He can immediately convey information about the enemies he fights to his comrades.”  Ichigo began to walk past Ulquiorra, toward a side exit of the chamber.  “Where are you going?”

                “I’m going to save Rukia.”  There was finality in his tone that left no room for doubt.

                “I thought I told you she’s dead.”  Ulquiorra was irritated with the illogical, headstrong nature of this young man already.

                His back still turned toward Ulquiorra, the orange-haired man replied coldly, “I don’t believe you.”

                “You sure are stubborn,” Ulquiorra observed.   _Good.  Maybe with this sort of resolve, you will have what it takes…  Do you have the wisdom, though?_ “Is it alright for you to leave without killing me?”

                “I have no reason to fight you,” Ichigo told him, still not turning around.

                “What do you mean?”

                “You’re my enemy.  But you haven’t hurt any of my friends yet.”

                 _He has integrity,_ Ulquiorra realized.   _He is willing to fight, but not mindlessly.  He was the right choice.  He will protect Orihime…  But I must be sure of his strength._ “So what if I tell you that I was the one who brought Orihime Inoue to Hueco Mundo?”

                Ichigo dropped Nel, who he had been carrying under one arm up until this point.  He drew steel on the Espada, enraged.  “So Inoue really didn’t go to Hueco Mundo of her own free will!”

                 _He had a savage side,_   _this is good.  He will need it later,_  Ulquiorra thought as he easily deflected the blade with his forearm.  ”How unexpected.  You were slightly doubtful of her even though you came to save her.”

                “Do you understand what you did?!  Because of you Inoue is being called a traitor!”

                “Probably.  If not, then we’ve miscalculated things.”

                “You bastard,” Ichigo snarled through clenched teeth.

                “Do you have a reason to fight me now?” Ulquiorra asked, provoking him intentionally.  He was emotionally drained.  He didn’t want this to drag out any further.  Nel huddled in fear on the floor nearby.  Ichigo pushed away from Ulquiorra with his blade, shoving himself backward a distance.

                “Ichigo,” Nel whimpered.

                “Nel, stand a little further away,” Ichigo instructed the tiny, child-like Arrancar.

                “Ichigo,” Nel snivelled again.

                “It seems that he’s not going to let me past,” he told Nel.  Glancing at Ulquiorra, he told him, “Sorry.  I’m in a hurry.  I’m going to go at full strength.  Bankai!”  Black and red reitsu poured out of Ichigo and his sword.

                Ulquiorra watched as Ichigo shot high in the air, surrounded by a cloud of smoke.  “A Bankai, huh?”  He wasn’t really impressed, until Ichigo cleared the smoke, and raised his head.  When Ulquiorra saw the bone mask the other man was wearing, his breath caught in his throat and his eyes widened.   _What is this?_

                Ichigo charged an attack, black and red reitsu spiraling like a many-armed galaxy, and slashed at Ulquiorra, releasing it.  The Cuatra kept his composure, only pulling his right hand from the pocket of his jacket to block the blast.  He knew the attack was no match for his Hierro, one of the thickest among the Espada.  What startled him was Ichigo following behind, and the brute force with which he pressed into him.  Ulquiorra found himself flung back through four pillars before he gained his footing, crushing a fifth pillar as it absorbed the impact of him launching off it.  He flew back toward the Shinigami, his mind whirling.   _What is that form?  What is this spiritual pressure?  It’s as if he’s like us._

                Ulquiorra was drawn out of his reveries by the realization that Ichigo was charging another attack.  “It’s over,” Ichigo called.  “Getsugatensho!”  He released a massive arc of reitsu from his sword.

                Easily, Ulquiorra stopped the blast with his bare hand again.  But the Reitsu bore down on him, heavier and heavier, pressing him slowly back, even as he braced himself against the crumbling tiles beneath his sandals.  He pulled out his other hand, trying to deflect the blast, but still, it bore down on him.  “Impossible,” he whispered as the blast engulfed him.  He struck his head on a piece of flying stone, and blacked out.

                As Nel berated Ichigo for using such a draining attack in his already weakened state, Ichigo gasped as he saw a form stand from amidst the rubble.  “What?”  There were no direct indicators to him though, that this was not Ulquiorra he faced now.  Much like Ichigo, when Ulquiorra’s regular self was too badly damaged or exhausted to go on, a darker Hollow stood in the wings to step in and take over, so the battle might not be lost.  As he lost consciousness, it was Murcielago who was waiting eagerly for his turn.

                “My, my,” Murcielago chided.  “ _I_ couldn’t even stop it with two hands.  I’m a little surprised.  Was that your best?”  Ichigo stared, silent with shock.  Murcielago dusted off his jacket.  “It seems like it was.”  He pointed a finger at the Soul Reaper, charging a green Cero at the tip.  “How unfortunate.”  Murcielago could tell that the battle hadn’t been going on for long, but he did know that the weakling Ulquiorra had not yet attempted to make any offensive moves toward the Shinigami.  As Murcielago blasted his opponent through the wall of the tower and into the inner dome of the palace, he chuckled to himself.   _You’re a fool, Ulquiorra.  I will not hesitate to kill these weaklings, even this woman of yours, since she has become such an inconvenience to me._

                Murcielago quickly caught up with Ichigo, who was carrying a now unconscious Nel, running across the sand, trying to find a place for her to rest.  He roundhouse kicked the Soul Reaper mercilessly through the wall of a nearby tower.  As Ichigo picked himself up out of the rubble inside the room, Murcielago watched him from the opening in the wall.  “You took out that mask just when you blocked my Cero, didn’t you?  Your reaction time is impressive.  But this time, it broke instantly.”  He began to stalk menacingly toward Ichigo, who was panting and wounded on all fours amidst the debris.  “You can’t bring it out again.  Give up.”  He was shocked when Ichigo thrust his blade toward Murcielago’s chest, holding him at bay.

                “Who’s going to give up?” Ichigo gasped.

                Murcielago surveyed the situation.  This man was covered in blood.  His coat was half missing.  He couldn’t even make it on to his feet.  Yet here he was, defying the perfectly reasonable and logical demand to surrender.

                “You’re the leader of the Espada, aren’t you?  That means that if I defeat you, this battle is pretty much won!”

                “I see,” Murcielago realized.  “That’s unfortunate.”  He grabbed the tip of the black Zanupakto pressed into his chest, and sliced the front of his jacket with it.

                “Wha-?”  Ichigo lowered his sword, flabbergasted. The jacket fell open, revealing the number ‘four’ tattoo to the left of the Espada’s chest.  “Four?!”

                 “Yes…  Cuatro Espada, Ulquiorra Cifer.  Of the Espada, my strength ranks… Fourth.”  He pinned the human with his ruthless green eyes, the way a cobra hypnotizes a bird.   _No sense in tipping my hand,_ Murcielago thought to himself.   _No doubt I am stronger than Cifer, but no sense in letting that out for now.  The world need not know of my existence…  Yet._ He raised his hand and in a deft motion, stabbed his pointed fingers into the chest of the frozen man.  “Ichigo Kurosaki…  You cannot defeat me,” Murcielago proclaimed, as though speaking a prophecy over him.  “Even if you do defeat me, there are three Espada above me.  You can try a thousand times.”  The light faded from Ichigo’s eyes, and Murcielago pulled his hand out, blood spilling from the wound.  “You will not be victorious.”  The lifeless body of Ichigo fell at his feet.  “It seems that I overestimated you.  Your development didn’t meet my expectations.  This is it.”  Murcielago turned to leave the tower through the gaping hole in the wall.  He called back to the lifeless Ichigo, “If you can still move in that condition, leave this place immediately.  If you can’t move, then die there.  You path ends here, Soul Reaper.”

               

WWWWW MEANWHILE WWWWW

                Orihime was locked in her cell.  She could feel the spiritual pressure of Rukia fading, and she pounded desperately on the door, to be released to go help her friend.  “Let me out of here!  Please, let me out!” she screamed.  She began to dissolve into tears, and stopped pounding.  “Let me out…  Let me out…” she whimpered helplessly.  “I don’t want it to be like this.  Kuchiki…”

                She sobbed with futility.  Then, she felt Ichigo’s reitsu flare, as he engaged in battle.  She couldn’t tell who he was fighting; the other party wasn’t exerting any power, or was shielding it somehow.  Helpless to assist in any way, she laid her head on the couch and continued to focus very hard on the energy flow of the nearby battle.  At last, she was engulfed in black and red reitsu as she felt his life force fading.  “Kurosaki?” she called.  “It’s a lie!  Kuchiki and now Kurosaki?  That can’t be!”

                The door cracked open.  Orihime looked up.  “Ul…” she began, but stopped herself.

                “See? The princess is by herself.”  A woman giggled.  The door opened a little more, to reveal Loly and Menoly.  “Orihime,” Loly called in a menacing sing-song tone, “Let’s play…”

WWWWWWWWWW

                When Grimmjow sensed Ichigo engaged in battle with Murcielago, he stood.  “Damn, that was fast,” he muttered to himself, standing to leave his chamber.  He would have to go check on Orihime, and take her to heal whatever leftover mess there was of Kurosaki once Murcielago was done.

                Once he got to the woman’s cell though, he saw the door had already been opened.   _Shit,_ he thought to himself, his anger rising.   _Who could have beaten me here?_  In his anger, he blasted a Cero through the wall.  Surveying the room from the gaping hole, he was relieved to spot a very surprised Loly and Menoly, assaulting the prisoner.   _Thank goodness, it’s only them,_ he thought.   _This is just a cat fight- it could have been much, much worse._

                Loly Aivirrne and Menoly Mallia.  The two of them were known unofficially, along with Cirucci Sanderwicci and a few others, as the whores of Las Noches, though that was a misnomer.  The term ‘whore’ implied that there was payment of some type for services rendered, and this was not the case.  They were provided with basic room and board of course, but any ‘payment’ above and beyond that was simply the sparing of their lives, and the tolerance of their presence on a regular basis.  More like a harem of shared concubines, the Espada were able to call on them at their leisure, and it was well known that even Aizen frequently held “private audience” with them in his chambers.  Grimmjow strongly suspected that it was this very issue which had caused the attack.  Loly and Menoly were the usual first choices of Lord Aizen, and he was sure that the arrival of Orihime, and subsequent special treatment and attention received by her, had spiked no end of paranoia and jealousy in these two.  They had probably come to assert their dominance over her, and make clear that they would not be ousted as Aizen’s favorites.    _Funny,_ Grimmjow smirked to himself,  _seeing as how in reality, the only one banging her has been Ulquiorra._

                “You seem to be having fun sneaking in here while Ulquiorra’s not around,” Grimmjow snarled.

                The girls turned toward Grimmjow, fear evident in their eyes.  “What of it?” asked Menoly, but the tremor in her voice belied her cocky words.  They knew they were in trouble.   _Deep_  trouble.  They might be Aizen’s personal aides and bedroom entertainment, but they were still only Numeros, not Espada.  In assaulting Orihime, they had far overstepped their boundaries, and Grimmjow was well within his rights to punish the girls however he saw fit.

                “How did you get in?” Loly demanded.

                “How?  Though the wall, of course,” he countered.

                “What kind of a joke is that?” Loly snapped, irritated.

                “Why not?  I don’t know who did it, but the entrance was broken already!”  He began to stalk toward Loly.  She had always been the trouble maker, and he was sure she had spear-headed this foolishness.  Menoly was the more mild-mannered of the two, and she was probably just easily convinced to come along.

                “Why you…  Cut it out!” Loly squealed. She still stood incriminatingly over Orihime, who was visibly abused, cowering on the ground by the side of the couch.

                Grimmjow raised his arm.  “Out of the way,” he ordered Loly as he back-handed her across the room.  He glanced threateningly back at Menoly, sneering, “Oh?  Did I use too much force?”  Loly picked herself up on all fours, coughing and vomiting from the pain of her injuries.

                “Grimmjow!” Menoly cried in rage and ran at him, a small red Cero charged in her left hand.  Grimmjow lifted his hand and closed his fingers around Menoly’s, easily blocking the Cero and reflecting it, amplified, back at her point-blank.  She shrieked as it discharged, blowing her away.

                “Menoly!” Loly screamed from across the room.

                “How dangerous,” Grimmjow scolded.  “Be careful of how you use your Cero.”

                “L-Lord Aizen won’t let you get away with doing this to us,” Loly screeched from the ground.  Grimmjow turned his severe glare on the woman.  He began to pace menacingly across the room toward her.  “Hey…  Wh-What is it?!  Hey!  What are you doing?!  Don’t come near me!  No!  No!”  She was frenzied with terror.

                “Boom!” shouted Grimmjow.  Loly instinctively covered her head.  “Idiot,” he scoffed in distain.

                “Lord Aizen should kill you!  Kill you!  Kill you!” Loly keened, her hand still half-raised protectively near her face.  Grimmjow lifted his foot and stomped on her head, knocking her out.

                “You idiot,” he muttered to the unconscious Arrancar.  “Aizen would never do anything for the likes of you.”

                Orihime trembled, watching this scene unfold before her.  “Wh-why?” was all she could manage to get out.

                Grimmjow turned his attention to her finally, now that the immediate threat had been neutralized, and the perpetrators sufficiently reprimanded.  “This is in return for my left arm,” he explained, which was not untrue.  She had completely restored his left arm, which had been severed and incinerated by Lord Aizen’s Lieutenant, Kaname Tozsen.  This, along with Grimmjow’s slaying of his replacement, Luppi Antenor, restored him to his standing rank as Seis Espada, which had been stripped of him.  He certainly owed the woman for that.

                “Huh?”  She was still a little stunned from the thrashing she had taken earlier.  She certainly wasn’t expecting it when Grimmjow snatched her up by the collar of her dress and held her up in the air.  “What?...”

                “What am I doing?” he finished for her.  “Did you think I came here just to save you?  How naïve.  I returned your favor.  Now you can’t complain.  Now I want you to help me.”  He set her down.  “Fix your face.”  She hesitated.  “Fix it right now,” he ordered her.

                Orihime glanced over and Loly, who had regained consciousness, and was struggling to get up.  Orihime ran to her side, and fell on her knees.  “Hey!”  Grimmjow barked, but she ignored him.

                Loly glanced back to Orihime, fury and hurt in her eyes.  “Wh-what are you doing?”

                “Shuno…  Ayame…” Orihime whispered, and forms flew out from her snowflake hairpins, circling in the air around the two of them.

                “What are you doing?” Loly demanded.  Orihime did not respond and Loly back-handed her angrily.  Orihime still gave no response, except that of her healing shield, which surrounded Loly.  She was awestruck as she felt her injuries fading under the hands of the woman.  Once she had finished, Orihime stood without a word, and walked over to the body of Menoly, which had been blown mostly away by the reflected Cero.  “You’re kidding, right?” Loly whispered, watching in disbelief as Orihime rejected Menoly’s injuries, returning her body to a perfect and whole state.   _What’s the deal with her?  What is it?_ Loly wondered.   _She’s… She’s a monster!_

WWWWWWWWWW

                Ichigo lay motionless on the floor of the tower.  Nel was crying, calling out to him, crawling across the rubble, begging him not to die.  A foot came down in front of her face, and she looked up, stricken with terror.

                “Out of the way, kid.”

                She trembled with fear.  “Seis Espada…  Lord Grimmjow.”

                Grimmjow ignored her, and went over to the lifeless body of Ichigo.  He gave him a rough kick, rolling him over to reveal the hole in the center of his chest.  “I thought so,” he murmured aloud, though mostly to himself.  He yanked on the top of a large bag he had been carrying.

                “Stop!” screamed Nel.

                Orihime fell out of the bag, gagged and her hands bound.  With a slash, Grimmjow cut through the gag as she hit her knees, her eyes still adjusting to the light.  She gawked, incredulous, at the sight that came into view before her.

                “Heal him,” Grimmjow commanded.  He flopped down on a large piece of stone from the broken wall.  Orihime gaped at him like a fish out of water, disbelieving the request; then she set up the golden aura around him, not wasting any more time, lest the Seis Espada come to his senses and stop her from helping her friend.

WWWWW MEANWHILE WWWWW

                Loly and Menoly stood terror stricken, their backs to the wall of Orihime’s cell.  Murcielago came through the doorway, pacing slowly.  “What’s the meaning of this?  Who did this?”

                “Grimmjow,” the girls told him.

                “I see.”

WWWWWWWWWW

                Nel began to wail and moan, begging Orihime to heal Ichigo.  Grimmjow threatened her with violence if she didn’t stop her yapping.  “He’ll be healed without you asking.  Shut up and watch,” he commanded her.

                Orihime was concentrating hard, but had encountered some difficulty.   _An incredible spiritual pressure is swirling around Kurosaki’s wounds,_ she thought.   _I can’t… reject it…_ “Who did this?” she asked.

                “Ulquiorra,” Grimmjow said.  Her heart sank.  “This is how he does things.  I’m not sure whether he’s aware of it or not.  He always punches a hole into prey he becomes fond of, in the same location of his own.  I’ll teach him the punishment for attacking someone else’s prey.”

                Ichigo’s fingers began to twitch, and everyone looked on eagerly.  “Nel and Inoue…” he said weakly.

                “Kurosaki,” Orihime sighed in relief.

                “Ichigo!” Nel sniveled.

                “Shut up!” Grimmjow commanded, taking an angry step toward them.  They didn’t understand the urgency of the situation.  “If you have time to make a fuss, then heal him already!”

                “You’re…  Grimmjow!  But why are you with Inoue?!”  Ichigo was confused.

                “You shut up too, and get healed!” Grimmjow snapped impatiently.  “I came here to settle things with you when you’re fully healed!”

                Orihime was mortified.  “Grimmjow, is that why you’re making me heal him?”

                “I told you to shut up!” he barked again, his intensity increasing as he knew his time was getting shorter.  “He’s dying, but I’m letting you heal him!  Don’t complain!  Hurry!  Ulquiorra will catch on sooner or later, and come back.  Before he does…”   _Damn,_ Grimmjow thought as he sensed the spiritual pressure behind him.   _Out of time already._

                “Ulquiorra…” he said, testing the other Espada.  It looked like him, but he knew from what he had been shown earlier from Ulquiorra’s Solita Vista, that Murcielago sometimes took over the same body with different consciousness.  He knew Ulquiorra himself had a habit of attacking his victims with what had been done to Ichigo, but because of what he had seen, he doubted in this case it had actually been Ulquiorra.

                “What are you doing, Grimmjow?” Murcielago demanded. 

                Grimmjow did not reply.  He was gauging the words of the Arrancar coming toward him.  He guessed well enough that Murcielago would not reveal his presence, as keeping it so easily concealed was an ace up the sleeve for him. 

                “What’s wrong?  I’m asking you…  What do you think you’re doing?  Healing the wounds of the enemy I defeated?”

                Grimmjow smirked.   _Yes._   He sensed the Reitsu here, and could tell that while very similar, it was not quite Ulquiorra’s.  His mannerisms were mimicked almost perfectly.  Someone who did not know him so well might be more easily fooled.

                “You’re not going to answer?” Murcielago asked, stopping a few feet away.  He glared at the other Espada, then past him, to the woman.  Orihime stared at him, and knew from the look in his eyes that it was no longer Ulquiorra.  She cast her gaze down to the side, feeling her heart ready to pound through her chest.  She heard Ulquiorra’s words in her memory;    _“Do not despair.  Fix your mind and your heart on whatever fills you... Other than me.  Think on your friends, who have come to save you.  Think on halcyon days of your youth.  You must steel your heart against him.  You must remember, though it appears to be my body…  It is him.  It is emptiness.”_

                “Fine,” snapped Murcielago.  “Anyway, Lord Aizen has entrusted that girl to me.  Hand her over.”

                 _Like hell I am, you tricky bastard,_ Grimmjow thought.   _If Ulquiorra was lucky enough to have found something as worthy of having as this, I will help him protect it.  And anyway, my business with the Soul Reaper is still unfinished.  I will have to buy us some time…_ “I refuse,” was all he said.

                “What?”  Murcielago couldn’t believe his ears.  Was this inferior Arrancar defying him?

                “What’s wrong?  You’re sure talkative today…   _Ulquiorra!_ ” Grimmjow mocked, coming at him.  His blue Cero was easily blocked by Murcielago’s bare hand, but the point had been made.  “I know,  _Ulquiorra,”_ Grimmjow teased.  “You’re afraid to fight me.  You’re afraid to fight to the death!”  He fired a more powerful red Cero into Murcielago’s hand, blasting him back.  This took him off guard, but he blocked it again with ease.

                “You deflected it, huh?  I expected that one shot wouldn’t…”  Grimmjow choked on his words as he lost line of sight with the other Espada.  He knew Ulquiorra was a master of Sonido, and clearly it was an ability which Murcielago shared.  Grimmjow spotted his opponent above him, charging a green Cero at close range.  Grimmjow put his hand out and palmed the blast, deflecting it and causing mass destruction to the surrounding tower.  Debris and dust billowed everywhere, and an airborne Murcielago momentarily lost track of his enemy.

                A moment was all that was needed.

                Grimmjow reached out of the cloud from behind Murcielago, and clutched at his jacket.  Before Murcielago was able to respond, he realized he’d been had.  A small, black box slipped out of Grimmjow’s hand where he had been palming it, and into the Hollow hole in Murcielago’s chest.   _Wild card, asshole,_ Grimmjow smirked to himself.

                Bands of black and white reitsu shot out of Murcielago’s chest, surrounding him and wrapping him tightly.  “Damn,” he whispered as it seemed to condense, and shrank until it popped out of sight, taking him along with it.

                Orihime stood on the sand amidst the remains of the crumbled tower.  Her personal protective shield shattered.  “Wh-what was that, just now?”

                Grimmjow landed lightly in front of her.  “Aizen gives us Espada something called a ‘Caja de Negacion,’ which is used to punish subordinates.  I used that.”

                “Caja de Negacion?” Orihime asked.

                “It’ll trap most guys in a closed dimension forever.  But it’s not something that’s made to work against other Espada.  Taking his Spiritual Pressure into consideration, he’ll probably stay trapped for two to three hours.  Now that you know, get to healing him.”

                Orihime frowned defiantly.  “I don’t want to.”

                Grimmjow grabbed her up by her throat.  “I’m not asking you whether you want to heal him or not!  Heal him!”

                “No.  If I heal Kurosaki, you’re just going to hurt him, aren’t you?  I won’t do it.”

                 _You damn idiot,_ Grimmjow thought.   _This is for your own good.  All of this is for you. How can you not see that?_ But his pride would not permit him to confess this to her.  “You bastard,” was all he managed to get out.

                A hand fell on his arm, and he was awestruck to see Kurosaki standing there.  “Let go of her,” he told the Espada quietly.  Grimmjow dropped Orihime, and jerked his arm out of the Soul Reaper’s grasp.

                “Kuro…”  Orihime began, but Ichigo cut her off.

                “Inoue.  Heal me.”

                “Huh?”  She was shocked.

                “Heal my wounds,” he reiterated to her.  “And… His as well.”  He indicated Grimmjow’s right arm, scorched from Murcielago’s Cero blast which had destroyed the tower.

                “Stop!  I’ve done nothing to get your sympathy.”  Grimmjow didn’t want any special favors from these two.  He just wanted to straighten things out between him and this Soul Reaper, and follow through on his promise to Ulquiorra.

                “Me neither, “countered Ichigo.  “But you want to fight on equal terms, don’t you?  Or…  Are you going to use those wounds as an excuse when you lose?”

                That was enough.  Grimmjow drew on Ichigo, slamming his blade against that of the Soul Reaper.  He was insulted, but grinning nevertheless.  He liked the spirited nature of this cocky, arrogant young man, and he always loved a good, enthusiastic fight.  “Bring it on!  Let’s have a fair fight to the death!”  They shoved back from each other.

                “I accept your challenge,” Ichigo said.

                Orihime reluctantly agreed to heal the both of them.  She and Nel sat on the sidelines atop the damaged remains of one of the towers, and watched the two of them pummel each other.  Orihime could tell that there wasn’t the usual enthusiasm behind Ichigo’s fighting, and she wondered why.

                Grimmjow seemed to notice the same thing, and taunted Ichigo.  “What’s with that look on your face?  It seems like you really have no intent to kill me.  You’re so pathetic.”

                “What?”

                Grimmjow used Sonido and came crashing down right behind Ichigo, slashing at him, forcing him backward across the sand.  “Let me ask you this, Kurosaki.  Why did you come here?”

                “That’s obvious!” Ichigo replied scornfully.  “To save Inoue!”

                Grimmjow scoffed.  “Then why didn’t I see you even attempt to run away with her when you saw her?!”   _Finally on the right track,_ he thought as he saw the evidence on Kurosaki’s face that the wheels were starting to turn in his head.  “Were you relieved that she appeared to be unharmed?  You’re so dim-witted.  You don’t even know how she is on the  _inside_.”  Grimmjow smiled as he saw his opponent come just the tiniest bit unglued.   _Yes, that’s it,_ he thought.   _Get angry.  Give it to me; give me everything, all your anger, all your rage, all your hatred.  Bring it out and give it to me.  Let it shape and strengthen you._ The worst part about it all was that everything he was saying was completely true.  There was no need to make anything up to provoke the Shinigami; the bare truth was enough.

                “Did you do something to Inoue?!”

                 _I never touched the woman.  But that’s not important.  Stay focused on your rage.  Now that it’s begun, I must continue to pull at it, like a loose string on a sweater, until the whole thing- until YOU yourself- come unraveled._ “That’s a good expression…  Kurosaki!” Grimmjow raged.  “You said that you came here to save that girl, right?  You don’t seem to understand, so I’ll tell you!  You’re wrong.”  Kurosaki stared on with disbelief.  “You came here to fight.  You can see it...  The path your instincts show you.  You’re a Soul Reaper!  I’m a Hollow!  The loser will be slaughtered!  That’s what’s been done for thousands of years now!  Is there any other reason to fight?!  Come on!  The last one standing can leave alive!  That’s all!”  He flew at Ichigo, sword first.  They clashed over and over again, Ichigo loosing Getsugatenshos to counter Grimmjow’s Cero blasts.

                “You’ve got a good look to you now, Kurosaki.”  Grimmjow landed on the ground, slamming his sword into the sand.  “But…”  He ran two fingers down the edge of his blade, slicing himself, flinging blood into an arc toward the Soul Reaper.  “That’s not good enough!  That’s not the side of you I really want to fight!”  He began to charge a massive blue Cero in the hand he had sliced.  “Take this!  This is the most powerful Cero, which only Espada are allowed to use!”

                As Ichigo fell through the air, he realized that Grimmjow was not aiming the blast at him.  He followed the line of the trajectory.  “Inoue…” he gasped.  “Wait, Grimmjow!”

                “Gran Rey Cero!”  Grimmjow released the blast, a maniacal grin plastered across his face.

                When the smoke cleared, Ichigo stood in mid-air with his back to Orihime, facing Grimmjow, having successfully deflected the blast.  “Kurosaki,” Orihime called softly.  She could sense the strange reitsu emanating from him.

                “You’ve finally shown yourself,” Grimmjow murmured with quiet satisfaction.

                Orihime clasped her hands tightly together.  She wanted Ichigo to turn around, to allay this dread that was welling up in her throat.  But she was terrified that if he did, it would only serve to confirm her fears.   _This Reitsu is so strange, not like Kurosaki at all…  More like…   One of them…_ It felt like an eternity that he just stood there, not moving, her anxiety growing.  Finally, he glanced back at her, and her world came to a grinding halt.   _Those… eyes…_ She saw the bone mask over his face, and those strange, black eyes with the yellow irises…

                He turned away again.  “Sorry,” he whispered in a strange, terrifying voice.  “Are you scared?”  Orihime did not reply.  “It’s hard to tell you not to worry when I look like this.  But I’ll tell you anyway.  Don’t worry.  I’ll end this soon.”

                Psychotic laughter erupted from below.  “That’s good.  I’ve been waiting for this moment!”  Grimmjow held his sword across the other side of his body, dragging first his fingertips, then his nails, down the flat of the blade from the hilt toward the tip.  “Grind, Pantera!” he roared, releasing his Resurreccion.

                 “Inoue.”  As sand and wind whipped around Grimmjow, Ichigo spoke with a calm, quiet urgency.  “From here on, place a Santenkesshun in front of you and Nel.  And make sure never to undo it.”  She stared at him, disconcerted by his clarity.  “Do it now!”

                Orihime gasped, and immediately complied.  “Santenkesshun!  I reject!” she proclaimed as the triangular, golden shield materialized in front of her.  Her thoughts spun as she watched them continue to fight.  She couldn’t believe this was actually Kurosaki before her.  A much more feline-looking Resurreccion version of Grimmjow blasted some rockets at her, and Ichigo flash-stepped into the path, taking the full brunt of all five rockets squarely in his back.  She cried out in dismay.

                “I’m all right.  This is nothing,” he assured her.  When he looked up, she imagined she saw the face of her brother, Sora, as a Hollow, superimposed in her mind over Ichigo’s own mask.  He returned to battle, but the ghosts remained to haunt her.

                 _I mustn’t be afraid…  I mustn’t… be afraid,_ she thought, even though she trembled as images flashed through her memory.  _When I remember those eyes, I feel as if Kurosaki has become someone else.  I feel as if Kurosaki can’t see me.  Just like my brother._

                Nel looked over at Orihime, and saw her eyes closed tightly.  She could tell the woman was in some inner turmoil, but it didn’t matter.  Ichigo was in trouble.  He had always been invincible before once he put on the mask, but he was really taking a thrashing now at the hands of Grimmjow.

                “Give it your all, Ichigo!”  Orihime was drawn out of her musings by the loud screaming of the tiny Arrancar.                  “Give it your all, Ichigo!”   Nel repeated.  “Come on!  What are you doing?!” she barked at Orihime.  “You cheer him on too!”

                “Huh?”

                “Don’t ‘Huh?’ Nel!  Ichigo is fighting for you! So why are you afraid of him?!  You said Ichigo was a kind person, right?!  That’s right!  Nel thinks so too!  Ichigo is kind!  When he heard your name, he lunged at Lord Ulquiorra!  Ichigo is human!  But he’s become a Soul Reaper.  He’s put on a mask and is using such insane power!  There’s no way that he can’t be suffering!  He has to be suffering!  But Ichigo is doing this for you!  He’s fighting and using that power and becoming bloodied!  Wh-why aren’t you cheering him on?!”

                Orihime realized Nel was right.  She had come to Hueco Mundo to protect her friends.  She had thought she was ready to sacrifice herself for them.  But when she heard they had come for her, she was happy.  She realized that she wasn’t afraid of Kurosaki himself, she was more afraid he would lose the battle.

                “Don’t die…” she called weakly.  Somehow, he heard her, and looked up.  She was encouraged by this, and screamed, “Don’t die, Kurosaki!”  Tears streamed unchecked down her cheeks.  “You don’t have to win,” she wept.  “You don’t have to try.  Just don’t get hurt anymore.”

                “Kurosaki!” Grimmjow snarled, rushing him, a clawed hand outstretched to strike.  Without even looking, Ichigo reached out and grabbed his hand, stopping him in his tracks.  The look on Ichigo’s face when he turned back toward Grimmjow, was completely incomprehensible to the Espada.  There was a soft, almost benevolent smile there that the Sexta did now know what to do with.

                “Sorry, Grimmjow,” Ichigo apologized.  “It seems that I…  I can’t lose to you any longer.”  With a single deft motion, Ichigo slashed through Grimmjow’s chest.  Blood spilled over the sand.  Grimmjow fell to his knees.  “It’s over.”

                Grimmjow’s claw shot out and grasped the tip of Ichigo’s sword.  “Don’t make me laugh,” he rasped.  “D-do you think… that you’ve won… against me?!”  Grimmjow remembered all he had come though as a hollow, his evolution to Gillian, then Adjuchas…  The others followed him, looked to his power to lead them.  They called him their king.  _I will not be so easily dethroned by someone such as you,_ he thought as he pierced his clawed hand through Ichigo’s midsection, and then retreated a few meters away.  “What’s with that look on your face?  You’re always like that.  No matter how much I best you…  You think that you can beat me.  You think you’re stronger than I am!  I hate that!” he snarled, rushing at Ichigo across the sand with incredible speed, knocking him back, then going at him again more forcefully.

                “What do you hate?” Ichigo chuckled.  “Do you hate that a mere human is treating you like an equal?!”

                Grimmjow stabbed his hand again into Ichigo’s stomach.  He flung the Soul Reaper away from him as blood spewed from the young man’s mouth, which was now visible due to the gradual crumbling of his Hollow mask over the duration of the fight.  “That has nothing to do with it.  It doesn’t matter if you’re a human, a Soul Reaper, or an Arrancar!  I’ll crush anyone who takes me for a fool!  I’ll begin…  With you, Kurosaki!”  He dragged his claws through the air, leaving ten great stripes of bright blue reitsu that looked like vast lacerations on the sky.   “Here I go.”

                Ichigo was awed.  “Wha-?  What is that?”

                “Desgarron.  It’s my strongest technique.”  He let out a growl as he released five of the beams from his hand in a slash.  They hurtled toward Ichigo and ground against his sword, sparking, and he tried desperately to block them, finally deflecting the attack to the sides.  “It’s over, Kurosaki!  You make me sick!  You’re going to lose to me!  I… I am the king!”

                Ichigo stabbed his sword into the Desgarron, sparks flying out all around as he dragged his blade across the Reitsu, causing the band of it to shatter and crumble.  “You’re…  you’re not the only one who wants to win.”

                “What?”

                “’I’ll begin with you,’ you say?  That’s my line!”  The other Desgarron faded around him as Ichigo pushed off the sand, flying toward Grimmjow.  The Espada snarled and slashed, releasing the Desgarron from his other hand.  “It’s as you say… I came here to fight with you!”  He dragged the blade of his Zanupakto through the Reitsu, dispersing it immediately.  “I came here to defeat you, Grimmjow!  I’m going to defeat you!  I’m going to defeat Ulquiorra!  I’m going to defeat Aizen!”  He continued to advance with increasing speed.  “Rukia!  Chad! Ishida!  Renji! And Inoue!  I’m going to bring them all back!  I can’t lose to you, Grimmjow!”

                As the sword tip neared him, Grimmjow’s face softened.   _Yes, Ulquiorra.  He has what it takes. He has the resolve.  Your woman will be safe.  He will be able to protect her._ “Damn,” he whispered at the pain of the sword impaling him, coughing blood.  _Farewell, Ulquiorra.  I hope in the next life, I am fortunate enough to find a moment of what you had.  Happiness.  Love…_ As the light faded from his eyes and his body slumped, the last thought that fluttered through his mind was a distant memory of a much younger Tia Hallibel, lying beside him in the white sand, wearing nothing but moonlight and sweat.  She was smiling at him.   _That look in her eyes…  Maybe…_

                Ichigo reached out and grabbed the wrist of the slain Panther King, lowering him gently to the ground, letting his body lay in a crumpled heap in the sand.  He stood for a few minutes over the body, as if maybe silently reciting some prayer for the dead, before returning to retrieve Orihime and Nel from the tower they had been waiting on top of.  He brought them down to the sand, and they discussed his plan to go save Chad and Rukia.

                 _What… the hell?_ Blue eyes reflected sky.   _I’m not…?  Shit…_ A shadow cast on the sand drew their attention, and they looked up.  There stood Grimmjow, struggling for breath.   _This isn’t done yet, you bastard,_ he thought to himself.   _I told Ulquiorra I would fight to the death. One of us has to finish this._ He staggered across the sand, his Resurreccion dissipating as he returned to his usual form, unable to maintain it due to his weakened state.  “Like I’m gonna lose,” he threatened, though he knew his words carried no clout, considering the condition he was in at the moment.  “There’s…  There’s no way I’d lose to the likes of you!”  He ran at the Soul Reaper as best he could, his sword outstretched.   _I have to finish this.  The woman’s safety depends on it.  I swore to Ulquiorra I would help him._

                Ichigo threw his sword aside.  It landed in the sand, and he caught the Espada’s blade in his hand.  “Enough, Grimmjow,” he reprimanded softly.  “You’ve lost.  I don’t know if you’re a king or whatever.  But killing off whoever displeases you and becoming a king who’s all alone…  What’s so great about that?  If you don’t like me, I’ll fight you as often as you like.  So…  Just stop for now.”

                “Quit joking around!  You’re…”  Grimmjow was cut short by a blade intersecting the side of his neck.   _No!!  No, no, no!  This can’t end like this…_ He fell to the sand gently, as if in slow motion, and lay there, unable to get back up again.

                “You just don’t know when to give up,” a voice leered.  “Hurry up and die.  I’ll have him for myself.”

                “Who the hell are you?” Ichigo called to the tall, thin man who was coming toward him.  “Are you an Espada?  I asked who you are!  Answer me!”

                Grimmjow, barely able to move, strained to turn his head to look.  “Nnoitora, you bastard…” He trailed off.   _You’re going to ruin everything._

                “What?  You’re still alive?”  Nnoitora remarked, incredulous.  He leapt into the air, coming down over top of Grimmjow, who was completely helpless.  Ichigo came in between the two Espada, blocking the death stroke from the crescent-shaped blade.  “What’re you doing?”

                “That’s my line,” Ichigo countered.  “He can’t move.  Why would you attack him?”

                “HA!”  Nnoitora pushed Ichigo away.  “What a miserable sight you are, Grimmjow.  Come on.  You lose to your opponent, then he protects you?”

                Grimmjow lay uselessly on the sand, watching Nnoitora and Ichigo fight.   _They’ve forgotten about me,_ he realized at last.  The fight had moved some distance away by this time.  He could not stand to move from where he lay.   _This is pitiful,_ he thought scornfully.  _It would have been kinder for him to let Nnoitora put me out of my misery.  Kurosaki has a strange concept of ‘mercy,’ sparing someone in my state instead of ending my suffering…_ Grimmjow continued to rest on the soft ground, irritated that he’d been so easily cast aside.   _Maybe it’s a good thing, though.  It means he’s focusing seriously on his fight with Nnoitora._ Grimmjow knew how dangerous the Cinco Espada could be, and decided ultimately, it was prudent of Ichigo to be focused so intently on his opponent.

                Looking around, trying to think of something to do while he lay there, his eyes fixed on the sky above him.  There was a fissure in the fabric of reality up there.  The space was warped from him using his Gran Rey Cero, and the sky crackled with energy and electricity, occasionally kicking out a blast of wind and reitsu.  Tendrils of the lightening shot out from the tear, licking the landscape, scouring it in wide sheets of light.  Pockets of unstable space began to appear, crawling across the sand and sky, sucking sand and rocks up and sometimes depositing them in other places nearby.  Grimmjow could do nothing but watch as the rifts crept increasingly closer and closer to where he lay, popping in and out of existence.

                Suddenly, he found himself floating in darkness.   _Shit, I got sucked into one of those things._ He lay there, hoping it would spit him back out soon.  He glanced around, and was shocked to see Ulquiorra standing nearby, his back turned.  Grimmjow sensed the Reitsu, and decided it felt like Ulquiorra and not Murcielago.  “Hey.”

                Ulquiorra turned around abruptly, and then vanished.  “Grimmjow?”  The voice came from above, and Grimmjow looked up to see Ulquiorra standing at some impossible angle.  “What is going on?  Where is this, and what happened to you?”

                “Caja de Negacion, I think,” Grimmjow coughed.  “Trapped Murcielago to fight Ichigo, then that bastard wouldn’t finish the job.”

                “The Caja de Negacion is a closed dimension.  How are you here?”

                “I used Gran Rey Cero.  Warped the space inside the dome.  Got sucked through an instability.”

                “Idiot,” Ulquiorra scolded.  He looked at the Seis Espada laying there, incapacitated by his injuries, and his face softened a little.  “Thank you, Grimmjow,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

                “For what?” Grimmjow laughed, groaning and coughing blood.  “For not finishing the job to the terms we agreed upon?”

                “No.  I think it will be enough,” Ulquiorra admitted.  “You did your best.  It is a mark of his character that he would not kill you.  There is no glory to be had in defeating an opponent in this state.”

                Grimmjow chuckled painfully.  “Tell that to Nnoitora.”  Ulquiorra shifted again, to the side.  “Stop doing that,” Grimmjow snapped.  “It’s annoying.”

                “I am doing nothing.  It is you, caught in the singularity,” Ulquiorra explained.  “What about Nnoitora?”

                “He tried to put me down.  Kurosaki wouldn’t let him.”

                Ulquiorra’s eyes widened at this.   _Such idealism…  He was surely the right choice to protect Orihime._ “Do you think he is strong enough from…”  Ulquiorra stopped, searching around for the other Espada, but he had vanished.   _Damn…_

                Before Grimmjow had appeared, he had not been exactly sure where he was or what was going on, seeing as how he had simply woken up here.  He had been attempting to perform some Kido-type spells to return himself to Hueco Mundo.  He was fearful to learn what he may have done as Murcielago before getting locked inside the Caja de Negacion, but that didn’t matter now.  He knew he had to get out, and put Murcielago against Ichigo.  The timing was important, but that would be impossible to control, he knew.  It would be ideal if Ichigo had completed his battle with Nnoitora first, and gained strength from that, but Ulquiorra was more concerned for the safety of Orihime during the ensuing combat.  If Ichigo was focused on his opponent, it would take only a moment of him being distracted, for something untoward to befall Orihime.  Ulquiorra could not bear that thought.  He sensed the boundaries of the closed dimension encapsulating him, feeling for a seam line or some sort of weakness.  He slashed at the walls with his sword, but still, nothing.  He tried to release his Resurreccion, but the space felt too confining to hold the Reitsu.  He continued, trying repeatedly to crack the walls of his prison by filling the space beyond capacity with his Reitsu, until he was exhausted.  He felt as though someone were pushing past him then, in a narrow hallway, and heard the rustle of leathery wings before he began to fade out once more.   _Damn, not again…  I’m sorry, Orihime…_


	5. Contention

                While Ichigo had been fighting Nnoitora, Captain Kenpachi had come and taken over the battle.  Once Nnoitora was defeated, Orihime was just about to heal their wounds when another Espada, Coyote Stark, appeared and abducted her. Orihime now stood trembling in the courtroom of Tower Five, in the palace of Las Noches.   _“Until then, I will leave Las Noches to you, Ulquiorra.”_ It was as if, when Aizen had spoken the words, he had somehow called the Cuatra forth from the Caja de Negacion where he had been imprisoned.  He had shattered thin air, stepped through from nowhere at all, and now stood glaring coldly at Orihime.

                She said nothing to him, remembering again Ulquiorra’s parting words to her regarding Murcielago.  She knew this was the other who stood before her, and not her beloved.  They stared in silence at one another for some time before he spoke.

                “Are you afraid?”

                Orihime had felt sadness, but not specifically fear, up until he had just now suggested it.  She was sad to know that Murcielago had locked Ulquiorra away, and also sad to know that perhaps soon, her friends would be engaging him in battle.  But fear was an entirely different level of emotion, and once he suggested it, it began to permeate her mind.

                “Lord Aizen has considered you unnecessary.”

                It was true.  She had heard it over the Tenteikura, the Bakudo number 77 that Kaname Tosen had cast for Lord Aizen to broadcast a message to the Shinigami over, just before the three traitors from Soul Society had left for Karakura town.

                “There is nothing to protect you anymore.  It’s over.  You will die here, all alone, with no contact with anyone.  I’m asking if you are afraid?”

                Orihime thought for a moment.  She felt fear, but she knew it was only what Murcielago had instilled in her through his suggestions, not her own fear.  She brought Ulquiorra’s words to mind again, and answered with a soft, decisive reply.

                “I am not afraid.  Because everyone came to rescue me…  My heart is with theirs.”

                “Such nonsense.  You say you are not afraid because your friends came for you?  Do you really mean those words?”

                “Yes.”  Orihime’s eyes narrowed at his response.  She could sense him flailing, trying to come up with some kind of a comeback, but it was difficult for him, since he did not know his enemy.   “When I first heard that they came to rescue me, it made me a little glad.  And awfully sad.  I came here because I wanted to protect all of them.  Why did they all come here?  Why couldn’t I make them understand, I wondered?  But when I sensed that Kuchiki had fallen, and when I saw Kurosaki fight in front of me, I felt like all of that didn’t matter.  All that mattered was I didn’t want Kurosaki to get hurt.  I wanted everyone to be safe.  When I felt that way, I realized, that must’ve been how all of them felt.  If someone in that group had disappeared like I did, I would surely do the same thing they did.”

                “This is absurd.  Your fate and that of your friends is already set.  Even if your friends come, it won’t overturn the fact that all of you will die,” Murcielago said remorselessly.  “Sharing feelings with those who are about to die, that is how you humans comfort yourselves.  It is one of your instincts to help you escape from fear and hopelessness.  Sharing feelings doesn’t exist in the real world.  It is nothing more than a meaningless illusion you humans have.”

                “You may be right.  Perhaps it is impossible to feel exactly the same emotions,” Orihime replied.  She knew that was a lie, because she had seen Ulquiorra’s Solita Vista, and knew that she felt the exact same emotions as he had for her.  But it seemed that Murcielago had either forgotten this, or did not know of it.  “But by cherishing each other, our hearts can be that much closer.  That’s what it must mean to ‘be of one heart.’”

                “Heart you say?”  Murcielago paced toward the woman.  “You humans use that word so casually, as though it’s in the palm of your hands.  My eyes see everything.  There is nothing they do not see.  If they do not see it, it does not exist.  I have fought until now, convinced of that.”  He stopped and reached his hand out, laying an icy finger on her sternum.  She was startled at how cold his touch was, even through her uniform, a stark contrast to the warm embrace of Ulquiorra.  “What is “heart?”  If I rip open your chest, will I see it inside?”  Murcielago raised his frozen finger and touched it to the bridge of her nose.  “If I split your skull, will I see it inside?”  Her eyes grew wide in terror at the sudden realization that this creature was indeed every bit as dangerous as Ulquiorra had suggested, and here she stood, within his grasp, and no protection to speak of.

                An intense spiritual pressure filled the room, and Murcielago’s eyes widened with surprise.  He turned in time to see a hole blasted in the floor of the throne room.  As the dust and debris cleared, Kurosaki was there, wearing the black long-coat with the ragged, flared bottom that was characteristic of his Bankai.  He also wore a look of dire fury in his eyes as he glared at the Espada.

                “Kurosaki,” Orihime said, unable to hide the elation in her voice at seeing her friend again.

                “Step away from Inoue,” he instructed the Espada.

                “I was about to.  My duty is to protect Las Noches until Lord Aizen returns.  I’ve received no orders to take her life.  Until those orders come, I will let her live.  However,” Murcielago raised his verdant eyes toward the Substitute Soul Reaper. “You are a different matter.  Killing you is synonymous with protecting Las Noches.”  As Murcielago drew his sword, Orihime stepped back gasping.  “I shall eliminate you with my sword.”

                “That was unexpected.  I didn’t think you would draw your sword first.  I came here thinking that I’d have to start by making you draw your sword.  Can I take it,” Ichigo remarked, his eyes narrowing at the Cuatra, “you consider me an equal opponent?”

                “At the very least, I consider you worthy of destroying.”

                Kurosaki smiled.  “That’s good enough for me.”

                They came at each other then, reitsu flying.  Orihime blocked herself from the fallout with a Santenkesshun.  “Kurosaki…” she whispered worriedly.

                After much slashing and blocking, Murcielago landed a hit on Kurosaki’s right shoulder.  “Still plan on fighting?” Murcielago mocked.

                “What?”

                “Garganta… Is closed…  You people who were injured in the battle against us Espadas no longer have anywhere to go.  You will idly spend your time here and die by our hands…  That’s all there is for you.  In short time, Karakura Town will disappear, and the Soul Society will, too, be destroyed by Lord Aizen after he creates the Ouken.  You people have no way to stop that.” Murcielago’s words were positively dripping with infused despair.

                But Ichigo would have none of it.  “Shut up!  We’re not done yet…  Don’t underestimate my strength!” he screamed.  Murcielago was taken aback at this, not expecting the Substitute Soul Reaper to fight so hard against his words.  He was shaken by his rebuttal, and began to lose ground on the battle.  “The Thirteen Court Guard Squads will stop Aizen without fail!  If that’s not enough, I will go and stop him…  I’ll defeat you and stop him!  Ulquiorra!”  Murcielago’s mouth opened in shock as Kurosaki slashed, sending the Cuatra hurtling backward.  Murcielago rebounded off a pillar to meet Kurosaki in mid-air.  “I will Defeat you, Ulquiorra!  And then, I’m taking Inoue back with me!”

                “Kurosaki…”  Orihime whispered again.

                Murcielago fired Cero point blank at Kurosaki.  When the smoke and debris cleared, it was evident that Kurosaki had blocked it. 

                “Huh…?  You withstood my Cero without taking out that mask.  You’ve gotten stronger.  Is it because you defeated Grimmjow?  Or is it…  Because of your friends who continue to fight under this tower?” Murcielago queried.  Kurosaki wiped his mouth on his sleeve.    “Or is it… because of that woman?”  Ichigo narrowed his eyes at this.  “That woman is already one of us.  Even if you rescue her from here, it doesn’t change that fact.”

                “What?”  Kurosaki remembered Grimmjow’s words.   _Were you relieved that she appeared to be unharmed?  You’re so dim-witted.  You don’t even know how she is on the inside._

                “Rescuing her… Is meaningless.” Murcielago assured him.

                “That’s not for you to decide!” Ichigo roared, furious.

                “You’re right.” Murcielago glared at him.  “It’s for Lord Aizen to decide.”  More slashing and blocking of swords.

                 “Not done yet,” Murcielago told Ichigo.  He began stabbing rapidly, and Kurosaki struggled to dodge the blade. 

                 _I can do this.  I can see his moves and react,_ the Shinigami affirmed to himself.   _He hasn’t become a different style of fighter just because he drew his sword. It just means his attack range has extended.  Watch closely…  Watch closely!  Watch!_ Kurosaki’s hand shot out, and closed on Murcielago’s wrist.  The Espada was dumbfounded.  Seeing the momentary opening caused by his shock, Kurosaki took the opportunistic attack and slashed across Murcielago’s chest.  Murcielago slid back, and his jacket fell open, revealing his number ‘four’ Espada tattoo.  After a moment, a slash visibly appeared across his chest and blood welled up, dripping down on the floor.  “I hardly cut you.  Must be that Hierro of yours.  It sure is tough,” Ichigo asserted.  Murcielago touched his chest tentatively, pulled a bloody finger away and examined it.  “But I get the feeling I’m able to read your movements better than I could before.”

                Murcielago looked up sharply, focused again on his opponent.  “What?”

                “The last time we fought, I couldn’t read your movements at all.  Not your attacks, defenses, reactions, speed, or which way they were coming from.  I couldn’t read where or what was coming at all.  I felt like I was fighting a machine, or a stone statue.  Is the reason why I’ve become able to read your movements because I’ve become more hollow-like?  Or… Maybe it’s because you’ve become more human, like me?” Ichigo taunted.

                Murcielago stabbed his sword into the ground, sending massive chunks of stone flying.  “Did you say… I’ve become more human?”  Kurosaki took his sword in both hands, at the ready, sensing his opponent was about to step things up. Orihime looked on.  “I see…  You must feel really good being able to keep up just at this level.”  Pieces of stone floated slowly upward, as though he had reversed gravity, and they were somehow falling up. 

                The Reitsu intensified, and Murcielago was upon him in an instant, Kurosaki barely dodging.  He realized Murcielago was behind him, then.   _No you don’t,_ Kurosaki thought, wheeling on him, but the Espada was too quick for him and Murcielago found an opening.  As the Cuatra slashed, his sword struck a golden shield of light.  He gave Orihime a sidelong glare.

                “What are you doing?” Murcielago demanded of her as the Santenkesshun shattered.

                “Huh?” Orihime asked.

                “Tell me why you saved him.” Murcielago’s voice was icy and callous.  It hurt Orihime’s heart to hear him say these things, because it sounded so much like Ulquiorra when he spoke, but she tried to push the thought from her mind.

                “Why? B-because…”

                “He’s one of you?  Then why didn’t you protect him from the very first attack?  Why did you hesitate?” Cold green eyes bored into her.

                “I… Uh…” Orihime stumbled over her words, trying to come up with a response.

                “You don’t know?”  Murcielago taunted.  “Then I’ll tell you why.”  He began to pace toward her.  “You’re…”

                “Shut up,” Kurosaki cut in, drawing an angry glare from Murcielago.  “Hesitated this, hesitated that, going on and on about stupid things.  Who cares about that?  Thanks for saving me, Inoue,” he added, directing the last bit toward the woman.  “But it’s dangerous, so stand back.”

                “Kurosaki,” she whispered, her voice laden with concern as she turned and moved at a further distance.  Her worry for him was a double portion.  Her fear for the safety of her schoolmate, and her latent anxiety over the ultimate wellbeing of Ulquiorra; both of these rested solely on the shoulders of the orange-haired Shinigami.  Every time she called his name aloud, her breaking heart simultaneously gave a silent cry of, “Ulquiorra.”

                “Ulquiorra… you’re quite talkative, aren’t you?”  Ichigo taunted.  He was beginning to get the feeling that there was something strange going on here, and he sensed the Reitsu emanating from the Espada standing before him was somehow different than it had been before.  Stronger, yes, but it was more than that.  It was almost as though this were an entirely different person who stood before him today in battle.  “I thought of you more as the silent type.”  Black and red reitsu poured heavily out of Ichigo’s sword.

                “A Getsuga?” Murcielago scoffed.  “You still don’t get it, do you?  That won’t work on me.”

                Ichigo came at the Cuatra, Reitsu licking the air like black flames as it gushed forth, channeled from his blade.  Murcielago’s eyes widened as he brought his own blade up to block the unexpected melee attack.  Ichigo roared, forcing the smaller man backward across the room with the weight of his Spiritual Pressure.  Murcielago was clearly straining under the weight of it, and he finally flung Ichigo to the side.   _Instead of releasing the Getsuga, he kept it on the blade, to create a slashing attack with the power of a Getsuga,_ the Arrancar observed.  He feigned when Ichigo attacked again, and used his Sonido to move around behind the Shinigami in an instant, taking the opening to attack.  “Not good enough,” he assured Ichigo as he brought his sword down.

                Ichigo sensed his opponent behind him, and easily turned to block, thick black and red Reitsu still flowing off his blade.

                “I suppose you were trying to be clever,” Murcielago told him, arm quivering as their swords were locked against each other, evenly matched for the time being.  “But have you forgotten?  You were unable to defeat me even using Getsuga with your mask.  Regardless of how it’s used, a Getsuga without the mask is meaningless.”  He pushed Ichigo away, seeming to gain the upper hand temporarily as Orihime looked on.

                “Kurosaki,” she whispered again, unaware of the hands reaching out from the shadows between the pillars behind her.  In her shock, she was quickly restrained, a hand brought over her mouth as she was drawn back into the darkness.  Glancing to her left in terror, she saw an evil grin pasted across the familiar face of Loly. “I got you….” the female Arrancar gloated in a gleeful squeal.  “Remember me?  Maybe you don’t.  Of course not.  There’s no need for a monster like you to remember someone normal like me!”  Loly’s voice took on a lower, more threatening timbre.  “But your time of sitting high up on the stairs is over now.”  With her mouth covered, Orihime could not even speak to defend herself against the unfounded accusations posed by the Numero.  She understood all too clearly now what their concerns were, and she wished desperately to tell them that Aizen had truthfully never laid a hand on her, and that she was no threat whatsoever to their ranking as his favorites in his harem.

                Ichigo became aware then of the distress in her Spiritual Pressure, and turned to see her held captive by the two young female Arrancar.  “Inoue!” he cried out.  “Who are they?!” he demanded loudly of no one in particular, since he knew his opponent would likely not assist him by divulging helpful information.  He turned and moved to come at Orihime’s assailants.

                But Loly saw him.  “Stay away!” she ordered, grabbing Orihime roughly away from Menoly.  “If you come closer, I’ll gouge her eyes out!”  Her palm was over the woman’s mouth, but her thumb was perched precariously close to the inner corner of Inoue’s left eye.

                Ichigo was banking on his strength and ferocity to call her bluff, and rushed the girl, leading with a cry of, “Getsuga…”  But he was cut off before he reached her, by Murcielago, who slipped between them with Sonido, bringing his blade up to halt the Shinigami, thrusting him back.

                “Ulquiorra?” Loly asked in disbelief.  She had dropped Orihime in her shock.

                “Don’t get the wrong idea,” Murcielago told her, scowling.  “I didn’t save you.”  His eyes did not waver from her as he brought his sword up to easily block the slash from Ichigo.

                “Move!” Ichigo seethed.

                Murcielago gave a glare to Ichigo then, and snarled scornfully, “Make me…”  He slashed at Ichigo, and engaged him again in battle, drawing him away from the women.

                “Kurosaki!” Orihime cried, but was silenced by a rough grab from Loly, who yanked Orihime’s arm out at an awkward angle, locking her elbow and pushing her down, wrenching Orihime’s shoulder agonizingly in its socket.

                “Your friend isn’t all that much, is he?” Loly mocked.  “Menoly!  Rip this woman’s body apart!” she commanded the taller, blonde haired Arrancar.

                Menoly stared at the woman, forced to kneel before Loly.  As Orihime’s face turned up to meet the wary stare of the Numero, something seemed to pass unspoken between the two of them.   _She doesn’t want to hurt us,_ Menoly read in the wide, terror stricken eyes.   _She has never lifted a hand against us, through all of our cruelty…   I would have deserved as much it if she had left me for dead after Grimmjow had blasted me with that returned Cero…_ Menoly stood frozen, regarding the human with a different opinion in mind than the one she had come here with.

                The grin melted off Loly’s face as she saw the change that came over her cohort.  “Menoly?” she questioned.

                Menoly turned away, unable to look Orihime in the eye any longer.  “I don’t want to do it…” she confessed.

                Loly’s grin was replaced quickly with incredulous rage.  “What are you saying?!”

                Menoly bowed her head, glowering at the darker-haired Numero from the corner of her eye.  “That girl has the ability to heal any wound, right?  No matter what we do, it’d be useless.  It’ll just make us feel more empty.”  Menoly was trying to explain the situation in a way that her counterpart would understand, and be willing to accept.  She knew how Loly was, and once the Numero latched on to something, she refused to let it go very easily.

                Loly’s hand shot out and yanked Menoly by the collar, bringing their faces close together.  The look of insanity was growing in Loly’s eye moment by moment.  “You… can’t get yourself to kill this woman because your own life was saved, is that it?”

                “It’s not that,” Menoly lied, doing her best to appease Loly, but the other Arrancar could see right through her.

                “Coward,” Loly spat in scorn, thrusting the blonde female unceremoniously aside.  “Forget it,” she snarled, a darkness coming over her face.  “I’ll do it alone.”  She turned her hatred toward Orihime, who trembled on the ground.

                “Loly!” Menoly cried, trying to speak some reason back into her friend, who had seemingly become so blinded with rage that she could no longer even think clearly.

                “Shut up!” Loly screamed.  Her fingers clutched at the long, autumn locks of her victim, and she yanked the woman roughly to her feet.  “Lord Aizen said it.  You’re no longer of use…  You understand?”  She released Orihime’s hair, and slid her hand tenderly down the side of her face, caressing her cheek and stopping under her jaw, pulling her closer, stroking her lips sensually.  Orihime was perplexed and disoriented by the sharp contrast of the physical input the Arrancar was giving her.  She figured this must have been the sort of thing that Aizen enjoyed, a mixture of pain and pleasure, because it had become evident to Orihime that Loly was doing this for him.  Or at least, Orihime thought, that in Loly’s deluded mind, she seemed to have convinced herself of that.  She seemed to be trying to protect Aizen from this woman, which was absurd by all accounts.  Orihime had never harmed a fly, and Aizen was much too powerful to need to worry about being harmed by her.  It was clear at this point however that Loly had departed from all semblance of reason or logic, and was now fueled by pure, seething, mindless rage.  “It means that Lord Aizen won’t scold me regardless of what I do to you.  You’re done for,” she hissed in an icy voice.  “I will tear out everything you stole from me.”  It was that moment when Orihime fully realized it would be utterly futile to try to explain to Loly that she didn’t want her position, or that it had never been at risk in the first place.  What had been ‘stolen’ from her, Orihime realized, was nothing less than her peace of mind.

                In an instant, Orihime knew both terror and fathomless pity toward this Arrancar.  She lived a life in a glass house, at the whim and fancy of the Espada and Lord Aizen.  It was only natural that someone in such a precarious situation as hers, should be so angry at the threat of losing the solitary shred of security that she possessed; her position.  And Orihime had come into her life as a stone, hurled toward her crystalline palace, by none other than Aizen himself.  Orihime wondered if perhaps this had all been part of Aizen’s plot in the first place; to play things out in such a way that Loly and Menoly would become naturally suspicious and jealous, and ultimately kill Orihime, effectively doing Aizen’s dirty work and tying up the loose end for him.

                Loly tore at the sleeves of Orihime’s dress in a frenzy, ripping off one of the puffy shoulders.

                “Inoue!” Ichigo roared, trying still to force his way past the Espada who still blocked his path.   “Getsuga…  Tensho!”  He released a massive slash of the black and red reitsu from his sword at Murcielago.  The blast was, again, easily deflected to the sides.

                Ichigo tried to slip past, hoping the deflected Reitsu would block the line of sight from his foe.  But Murcielago was already aimed, charging a green Cero blast as Ichigo’s Getsuga cleared, and he released it, blowing Ichigo back into a row of thick pillars.  “Damn it,” Ichigo cursed, getting back up and coming at Murcielago again.  “I said move!”

                “If you want to fight an opponent other than me, kill me first.”

                “Shut up!” Ichigo snarled.  “Move!”

                Loly continued to tear at Orihime’s dress, effectively removing the shoulder from the other side.  She pushed Inoue roughly to all fours, and stalked toward her, giggling maniacally.

                “Stop it!”  Ichigo was becoming frantic.  He looked on helplessly as Loly pulled her arm back, prepared to strike.

                Just then, then tower began to shake.   _BOOM._ Loly took a step to maintain her footing, and looked around, her concentration broken.  “What?”

                The others felt it as well.   _BOOM.  BOOM._ “What was that?” Ichigo asked, glancing about the room. _BOOM.  BOOM.  BOOM.  BOOM._ The floor exploded from below.  Out of the hole crawled a grinning Yammy Llargo, Espada number ten.  “Ulquiorra!” he thundered.  “I came to help!”

                “When did I  _ever_  ask for your help, Yammy?” Murcielago asked coldly.

                Ichigo’s eyes widened.   _He’s… that guy, from back then,_ he realized, remembering his first encounter with the oversized Espada.

                “Don’t’ be so unfriendly!” Yammy leered.  “That Soul Reaper kid looks like he’s gotten a lot stronger.  Let me join you.”

                “I see.”  Murcielago’s piercing green eyes took in the larger Espada.  “Looks like you’ve completely recovered.  But there’s nothing for you to do here.  Go back and get some bed-rest, or go and take care of the captain-level Soul Reapers below us.”  Murcielago closed his eyes, seemingly exasperated with Yammy’s persistence in trying to ‘assist’ him with defeating the Substitute.  It had become personal now with him, and Murcielago preferred to finish of his marked prey on his own.

                “What’s with that?   Stop being so stingy, Ulquiorra!”

                Murcielago glanced back at larger Espada.  “Your shortcoming is that when you get in that state, you become very stubborn, Yammy.”

                “Come on, don’t be like that,” Yammy chided.

                “Y-yammy…”  He turned to see who had spoken, and spotted Menoly trembling nearby.  “You have no business with us, right?  We’ll leave right away, so…  Let’s go, Loly!”

                “Are you kidding me?!” Loly snapped.  “Not after we came this far!”

                “Loly!  That’s enough of that!”  Menoly cried out as Yammy back-handed her across the room and into the wall.

                “Menoly!” her friend shrieked in dismay.

                “Ulquiorra!  What are these bitches doing here?!” Yammy called.

                “Ask them.”  Murcielago didn’t even bother turning around.

                “Yeah, you’re right!”  Yammy knelt before Loly, still not coming down to her level, so much larger was he.  “Hey, you!  What’re you small fries doing here?  You’re in the way!  How’s this?  One more time!” He grabbed her up like a rag doll, and threw her to the ground a distance away, causing her body to bounce off the stone of the floor.  “Oh, come on.  Are you finished already?  You’re not even good for a little warm-up exercise.  Hey, Ulquiorra!  These two are no fun, after all, so I’m going to join you!”  Orihime watched all this in abject dread.

                “Yammy, that bastard,” Loly whispered, struggling to pick herself up off the floor.  She looked over to see Orihime, eyes fastened on the Arrancar.  “You…  You must be enjoying this.  Watching us, who tried to kill you, getting treated like this…  Go ahead and laugh if you want.”  Loly’s eye widened when she saw the golden shield cover her.  “J-just a minute…  Stop it!  What’s the big idea?”  Something like despair began to come over her face.  “Are you crazy or something?  I almost killed you, remember?  And yet…  And yet, you’re helping me?”  The determination on Orihime’s face was resolute as Loly’s injuries faded.  “What are you?” Loly muttered.

                Yammy’s gigantic fist slammed toward Orihime then, and she threw a Santenkesshun between them, which blocked her but shattered instantly on impact.

                “Inoue!” Ichigo called, still trying to come to her aid, still blocked by Murcielago.

                “This is getting really old,” the Cuatra told the orange-haired Substitute.  “I told you to do that after you killed me.”

                “Huh? What’s with you?”  Yammy loomed over the Numero and the woman.  “What are you wasting time playing house for, instead of just dropping dead?”  He turned his attention to Orihime.  “Actually, this woman here seems a lot more interesting…”

                “Wait!” Ichigo called, panicked.  Yammy’s hand stretched out and descended toward Orihime, who sat frozen in fear.  A blade sliced through his palm, stopping his advance as he inspected the blood dripping from the wound.

                “What?  Where in those clothes were you hiding a sword?” he asked Loly, who stood protectively between him and Orihime, wielding a long dagger.  “You’re a naughty woman.”

                Orihime’s awestruck gaze was returned with Loly’s scorn.  “What?  I was sick of the idea of having to owe you any favors.”

                Yammy’s ire rose.  “Bitch…  What are you getting in my way for?!”

                “You keep your hands off my catch!” Loly growled at him, extending her dagger and rotating it.  “Poison, Escolopendra!”  She was enveloped in a dark pink colored Reitsu, and two long spiked tentacles extended from her arms as she transformed into her Resurreccion.  “I…  I…  I didn’t come here to be defeated by the likes of you!  Yammy!” she roared.  She lashed at him with one of the long tentacles, missing and instead taking out a pillar.  The top of the pillar began to bubble and smoke though, boiling over with inky colored liquid.  “With my poison, I’ll kill you, Ulquiorra, and everyone and anyone, dissolving everything into pulp!”  She lashed at him again, but he deflected with his forearm.  She shot the other tentacle out and wrapped it around him like a boa constrictor.  She gave a smug grin when dark fumes began to emanate from between the coils.

                “Hn,”  Yammy grunted, unimpressed.  He brought his huge fist down on her head, crushing her and breaking some of her bone armor.  Blood streamed from her mouth as Yammy picked her up.

                “Wait!” Orihime begged, rushing toward them.

                “Stay away!” Loly commanded her, stopping Orihime in her tracks.  The Numero cast a cold glare over her shoulder.  “You really piss me off,” Loly whispered.  “I can’t tell you how much you piss me off.”  Orihime felt hurt at the Arrancar’s cruel words, and Loly smiled hatefully to see the pain register on the other woman’s face.  Pain overtook her own face after a moment’s gloating however, as Yammy’s massive palm crushed Loly’s slender body in his fist.

                “Small fries shouldn’t act so big,” Yammy scolded over Loly’s cries of anguish.

                “Damn you,” Loly cursed.  “You…  You…  Scumbag.”

                “Huh?”  Yammy was incredulous.  “What’d you just call me?”

                A sly grin mingled with the pain on Loly’s face.  “You… Scumbag,” she repeated.

                Yammy roared with laughter as he slammed the much smaller woman through the wall of the tower.  “I couldn’t hear you,” he shouted, holding her through the hole, to the outside of the tower.  Loly’s head fell back limply.    “Huh?  What the…?  She’s dead.  I figured this wouldn’t be any fun.”  He cast the lifeless Arrancar’s body to the sand below.

                “Wait!” Orihime cried, but it was too late.

                Yammy turned back to her.  “Did you say something?” he demanded.  He gave a chuckle.  “Yo, Ulquiorra.  Is it okay to kill this woman already?”  Orihime stiffened in fear.

                “Don’t’ do it!”  Ichigo pleaded, still locked in battle with the other Espada.  Yammy’s hand reached for her, and crushed the Santenkesshun she put up in front of herself.  “Inoue!”

                Yammy stalked toward Orihime, leering and chucking lecherously.  His attention was drawn by the outline of a form, hovering in the sunlight shining through the hole he had punched in the wall.  Turning, he was greeted by a glowing blue arrow bolt in the shoulder.  He went down on all fours in shock as Ishida Uryu landed gracefully inside the courtroom.

                “Ishida!” Ichigo called.

                “Don’t let yourself be distracted,” the Quincy replied.  “Focus on your own opponent, Kurosaki.  I can handle this guy by myself.  Leave him to me.”

                “Ishida,” Orihime called, unable to contain her delight.

                “Inoue.”  The Quincy regarded her kindly.

                “But how did you…” Ichigo began, but Ishida cut him off.

                “What? Asking questions during a battle?  You sure are easy-going…  What do you want to know?  Mayuri Kurotsuchi treated me.  He treated Abarai first, so I took longer.  Abarai, Sado, and Kuchiki are still in a battle right now.  But I…”

                “Ishida!” Orihime called out in warning, as Yammy was getting to his feet.

                “Who the hell are you?  Where did you crawl out of?!”  Yammy great meaty hand balled into a fist and slammed the ground, trying to pummel the newcomer.

                But Ishida was too light on his feet for the hulking Espada, and effortlessly avoided his reach, landing agilely out of range.  “I shot you with all that power, but it didn’t go through,” Ishida observed.  “You’re sturdier than I thought.”

                “Why you…” Yammy was indignant that a puny ant like this would speak to him in such a fashion.

                “Follow me,” Ishida called, moving to the edge of the hole in the floor.  “There are too many things in the way here, don’t you agree?”

                “Ishida, are you sure about this?” the Soul Reaper called out.

                “I already told you.  Leave him to me.”  With that, Ishida dropped down to the next level below.

                “Interesting…” Yammy pondered.  “Ulquiorra, I’m taking this one.”

                “Suit yourself,” Murcielago replied in a tone that sounded a lot more like,  _“About damn time.”_ He watched Yammy follow Ishida down through the hole, and saw Ichigo staring after them intently.  “Are you concerned for that man?” Murcielago prodded.

                “Of course not!” Ichigo snapped, turning back to face his opponent.  “Here I come!”

                Murcielago easily blocked the attack, and kicked Ichigo back.  The Soul Reaper lay on his back as the Espada stalked toward him.  “Is this woman the reason?” he taunted.  “Is the reason why you won’t pull out that mask because this woman is here?  If that’s the case…”  Murcielago turned his attention to Orihime.

                “You’re wrong!” Ichigo said, blocking him.  “That’s not it.”

                “Then pull out your mask,” the Arrancar ordered.

                “Like hell!...”  Ichigo rushed him again.

                A few minutes later, an explosion rocked the tower, and Ishida emerged from the hole.  He briefly explained the Arrancar detecting bombs that Mayuri Kurotsuchi has sent with him, which he had placed in advance and easily lured Yammy within range of.  “Any other doubts?” he asked Ichigo.

                A smirk plastered itself across Ichigo’s face.  “I never doubted you from the start.  You just went rambling on and on.  You’re an annoying guy.”  His sarcasm belied his relief in seeing that his friend was alright.  “Look after Inoue,” he instructed the Quincy.  “If Inoue can’t completely block my spiritual pressure with her Rikka, I want you to protect her with your life.”

                Ishida bowed his head slightly.  “I was going to do that even without you telling me.”

                “Sorry to keep you waiting, Ulquiorra,” he apologized.  “Here I come.  Here’s what you wanted to see…”  Ichigo raised his hand to his face.  “My Hollowfication.”  He dragged his fingers down his face, causing the mask to materialize from thin air.  He roared, coming full force at Murcielago.  His sword flamed with thick black and red Reitsu, and he pressed heavily into the blade of the Espada.  Murcielago was shocked to see his own blade cracking slightly under the pressure.  He flew back, knocked through the hole the Getsuga tore in the wall of the tower.  As Murcielago fell backward, he charged a green Cero, aiming it where he knew the Soul Reaper would be exiting momentarily.

                He blasted Ichigo fully when he appeared, but when the Reitsu cleared, Murcielago could see that he stood completely unscathed.  His eyes narrowed, and he pushed off, flying quickly upward past Ichigo.

                Not expecting to have to chase him, Ichigo called, “Come back here!”  He pushed off in pursuit.  “Damn it!  How far does he intend to go?!”  Murcielago slashed his blade, tearing a black opening in the blue sky, which he passed through.  Ichigo followed.

                Orihime and Ishida ran to the opening in the wall, searching for their friend.

                “Ichigo,” Orihime called again, sadness heavy in her eyes.

                “A hole… Opened up in the sky,” Ishida observed in wonder.  “So that sky really was fake.”  He watched Orihime for a few moments.  She stared with intensity at the hole far above them, walking to the very edge of the tower.  He thought she must have been worrying about Ichigo, and blamed herself somehow for the danger he was it.  He didn’t know the other half of it, and she betrayed nothing for him to guess at it.

                “Inoue,” he called softly.  She looked toward him.  “It’ll be alright,” he assured her.  “Kurosaki… will win.”  He mistook the bittersweet look on her face as concern, for any injuries Ichigo might incur during the battle. 

                Truthfully, she realized now that there could be no winning outcome of this for her.  Either her friend, or her lover, or both would perish in this fight.  She knew she had to do as Ulquiorra had instructed, though.  She had to steel her heart against Murcielago, who would surely try at the next opportunity to cause her again to despair.  Already, seeds of fear were planted in her mind by him.

                An overwhelming Reitsu flooded the area, so strong that it nearly knocked Orihime off her feet.  “Inoue!” Ishida called in concern.  She clutched at the wall and looked to him, steadying herself under the onslaught.  “What was that?  What happened up there?” he asked, looking up.

                Orihime was petrified.   _What if Murcielago has taken over completely?  What if Ulquiorra never comes back, and Ichigo kills Murcielago, and I never get the chance to say goodbye?  I never got to say goodbye…  What’s going on up there?  I have to know what’s going on…_

                “Ishida,” she said, “Is it possible to lift me above that ceiling using your powers?”  She sensed his hesitation, so she added, “Please…”  The desperation was evident in her voice, and though he did not understand the true reason why, he could not say no to her.

                “This is incredible,” she told him as they flew upward on a blue disc of light.

                “I learned this when I went through the Garganta.  I realized along the way here that I could use it in Hueco Mundo as well.  If I had realized it just a bit sooner, I could have applied it in battle, too.”

                “Ishida…” Orihime began to speak, but both of them staggered under a crushing weight.

                “Wh-what is that?” he asked.  “It came from above the ceiling…”  Black and green reitsu poured out of the opening in the sky, and encompassed the two of them.  “What is this?!   Is it Spiritual Pressure?!  It’s too different…  It’s unlike any Spiritual Pressure I’ve ever experienced before.  It’s not just powerful or huge…  It’s a different sort.  Thick and heavy, enough to make me aware that it’s something different than Spiritual Pressure.  It feels as though there’s an ocean spread above the sky.”

                “I’ve never…”  Orihime stopped herself.   _I’ve never felt this before,_ she has started to think, but then she realized it was Murcielago, amplified to a massive degree. 

                “This isn’t good…  Let’s hurry!” Ishida gasped.

                They passed through the opening, and Orihime tucked into a roll as she hit the ground.  She leapt back up to her feet as Ishida tried to pick himself up out of the sand.  She never stopped moving.  She was exhausted, breathless, but she ran with every shred of energy she could muster.  She was terrified.   _This cannot be,_ she thought to herself.   _Please Ulquiorra, don’t let this be..._

                What she saw made her freeze in her tracks.

                A looming figure stood perched atop a pillar, silhouetted against the moon.  He gave her a sidelong glance.

                “So, you’ve come, Woman,” he whispered.  

                Orihime’s eyes brimmed with tears as she saw a second figure suspended in mid-air, held tightly in the long, whip-like tail of a creature who was clearly Ulquiorra, but not like him at all.

                “Kuro…saki?” she asked brokenly as she was able to make out the second figure.

                “You’re just in time.  Watch closely,” Murceilago spat, “The moment the life of the man to whom you’ve entrusted your hopes comes to an end.”  He pointed a finger at Ichigo’s chest, and fired a green and black Cero point-blank.

                Orihime was frozen stiff in terror.  She opened her mouth wide, but no sound came out for a few moments.   At last she gathered her wits, and shrieked, “STOP!”

                The blast cut like a laser through him, and Orihime could only stand terrified as she saw the gaping, hollow-like hole that this creature had blasted though Ichigo’s chest.  Murcielago released his tail from Ichigo’s neck and cast him aside disdainfully, like a rag doll.  The still body plummeted from the tower.

                “NOOO!!” Orihime screamed, running to the side of her friend.   _It has happened then,_ she thought.   _The other side has won, for this is surely not the Ulquiorra whom I know and love.  He has split, and indeed, the life of the man who I loved, has ended at the hands of this creature.  My Ulquiorra could not have committed such an act as to harm my friends, even under orders from Lord Aizen._

                Orihime shot a triangular shield out to catch the falling Ichigo, and dampen his fall.  She staggered toward him, but the creature landed in her path.

                “It is useless,” Murceilago told her.  “Even if you could get to him, you powers are not enough to keep him alive.”

                Orihime trembled in terror.  This monster was trying to cause her to despair.  She fixed her eyes on the limp body of her friend, knowing he was her only hope now.  She could not defeat this beast alone.  Ulquiorra was gone, and this creature would not be swayed by her.  “Kurosaki…  Kurosaki…” she called desperately.

                “I’ll say it again,” Murcielago repeated.  “It’s useless…”

                Just then, a blue blast of spirit particles flew at the monster.  Ishida shot arrows from his Quincy bow at the thing, but they were easily deflected by its wings.

                The distraction of battle was just enough for Orihime to slip past, rushing to Ichigo’s side, calling his name again.  A healing shield flew ahead of her, enveloping his body in golden light, and she fell on her knees in the sand at his side.  The look of shock he wore when the Cero had cut through him, remained plastered on his face.  Tears began to stream down her cheeks from her wide, terror-stricken eyes.  She became oblivious to the battle behind her.

                 _What should I do?_ She asked herself.   _What should I do?  Somewhere in my mind, I thought Kurosaki would be alright…  That he would win… By believing that, I was able to turn my eyes away…  But…_ Orihime raised her hands to her head, feeling some sort of insanity begin to take hold.   _What should I do?  What should I do?_ She kept repeating the phrase to herself, like a mantra.

                Ishida skidded nearby to a stop in the sand, and Orihime was drawn out of her reflections.  “Ishida…” she called, noticing his drawing arm was badly wounded.

                “There’s nothing to worry about.  I’ve anesthetized it, and stopped the bleeding,” he assured her.  “Inoue…  I’ll leave Kurosaki in your hands.”  He stood and went again at the monster standing a short distance away, Seele Schneider in his hand.

                “Ishida!” she screamed after him, and watched the creature effortlessly lay him low.

                 _What should I do?_ she repeated in her mind.   _What should I do, Kurosaki?  I don’t know what I should do.  I don’t know…  I don’t know anything._ She watched the creature easily smash the shield she threw in front of Ishida.   _I don’t know…  Kurosaki…  Kurosaki… Kurosaki… Kurosaki… Kurosaki…_

                Paralyzed with terror, she found her voice at last, and let out a wail, “Help me!  Kurosaki!”

                Black and red Reitsu began to spill out of the body lying at her knees.  It began to change, and rose to its feet, but it was not Kurosaki who stood there, any more than the creature who had slain him was Ulquiorra.  The golden hair had grown long, whipping in the wind, and a terrifying horned Hollow Mask covered any trace of the face of her school friend, Ichigo Kurosaki.   _What has Murcielago done to Kurosaki?_ Orihime wondered in horror.

                The two monsters battled then, explosions of flame, Cero against Cero, billowing clouds of smoke and debris.  Orihime and Ishida could not see in detail, until at last, one monster stepped forth from the flames.

                “No,” Orihime whispered.  “It can’t be…  Is that really… Kurosaki?”

                They continued to fight intensely.  Their speed was such that neither Orihime nor Ishida were able to properly track the combatants.  At last, Kurosaki slashed through the other beast’s midsection, and it fell.  The victor pressed the victim’s head into the ground with a clawed foot, and charged a red Cero blast between his horns.  “Damn it,” muttered Murcielago.  “I never thought that I… would be defeated by a Hollowfied human…  It’s ludicrous…”   _Better on the battlefield by an opponent who bested me though, than by trickery from that weakling Ulquiorra and the woman,_ he sneered to himself.  Murcielago glared up at Kurosaki, taunting, “Do it,” as the blast discharged in his face.

                Orihime threw up a shield when the blast ignited, protecting her and Ishida.  When the smoke cleared, Kurosaki stood in the center of a huge crater, holding a limp Murcielago by his one remaining wing.  He cast the Espada aside to the ground.  The scene was eerily reminiscent of the one from earlier, when the tables had been turned, and it had been Murcielago who had cast the lifeless Ichigo aside. 

                Kurosaki loomed over the motionless Espada, pressing his sword tip toward his throat, but Ishida grabbed his wrist.  “That’s enough, Kurosaki,” he reprimanded.  “That battle’s been decided.  He’s an enemy, but there’s no need to chop up his corpse.”

                Ichigo maintained, trying to force his arm downward.

                “That’s enough, Kurosaki!” Ishida insisted.  “Didn’t you hear me, Kurosaki?  I said stop it!  If you do that…”  his voice quavered.  “…then you’ll truly not be human anymore.” 

                Ichigo still tried to press the tip of his blade down into Ulquiorra’s throat, and Ishida fought to restrain him.  “Stop it, Kurosaki!” he ordered.

                Unexpectedly, Ishida found himself impaled on Ichigo’s blade, rather than the Espada he had been trying to protect.  He sailed backward through the air with the force of the blow, the blade still buried in his gut.

                “Ishida!” cried Orihime.  Her voice echoed through the darkness.

                “Help… her…” Ichigo stammered in a strange voice.  “Help… her…  Help her.  I will…  Help her…  I will help her…”

                Orihime was utterly distraught.  _It’s my fault,_ she realized.   _It’s because of what I said, that Kurosaki tried to help me.  Why?  I trained because I didn’t want to be a burden to Kurosaki.  I came here because I wanted to protect Kurosaki.  So why…?  Why did I rely on Kurosaki at the very last moment?_

                Orihime shrieked his name, even as Kurosaki charged a Cero blast to fire at Ishida.  No one saw Murcielago as he flew up behind Kurosaki, until his sword sliced through the air and took off Kurosaki’s left horn.

                No longer focused or contained, the power from the blast released in a ball of red and black flame.  Ichigo’s hollow mask shattered and he fell flat on his face.  Orihime ran to his side, calling his name.

                Murcielago landed nearby, and stood, watching in shock.   _My arm, leg and torso are regenerating, but it’s all just a sham,_ he realized.   _My organs that he blew away will never come back.  If it hadn’t ended with that blow just now, that would be me lying there dead._

                 There was a blast of pale blue energy, and a cyclone formed over the motionless body of Ichigo Kurosaki.  A thunderclap sounded, and the cyclone shot into his body.  The hole was gone.

                “Instant… regeneration…” Murcielago whispered incredulously.  Some part in him leapt at this, and he felt Ulquiorra trying to resurface, the barriers growing weak.   _He is like us…  If he could be made whole again, then so too might we…_  Murcielago scoffed at the notion, and stuffed the other half of himself deeply down again into his subconscious.

                “Kurosaki?” Orihime called tentatively.

                Kurosaki shot up abruptly to his hands and knees, a terrified look in his eyes.  “Didn’t I…”  he touched his hand to his unmarred skin, disbelieving.  “…get a hole blown through my chest?!…”

                “Kurosaki,” Orihime repeated in a gentler tone.

                He looked up at her, snapping back to reality as though waking from a strange dream.  “Inoue…  Are you alright?”  She smiled slightly, and nodded.  Satisfied, Ichigo glanced around, and was horrified when he saw the body of Ishida, slouched against a pile of rubble, Zangetzu buried to the hilt in his gut.

                “Ishida…” Ichigo called, rising to his feet.

                Ishida looked up, a weary smile on his lips.  “You’ve finally… snapped out of it…”

                Ichigo’s eyes widened in disbelief.  “That wound…  Did I do that?”

                “You’re a hard guy to kill,” Murcielago remarked.

                Ichigo glanced over his left shoulder at him, and gasped at the sight of his severely wounded, yet still standing, opponent.  “Ulquiorra…”

                Murcielago’s face darkened momentarily at being mistaken even in this form for someone he regarded with such strong distain, but he did not bother to correct Ichigo.  Instead, he flashed over to the impaled Ishida, and yanked Ichigo’s blade unceremoniously from Ishida’s gut, tossing it at Ichigo’s feet.  “Pick it up,” he taunted.  “Let’s finish this.”

                “Am I the one…  who stabbed Ishida?” Ichigo persisted.

                Murcielago scoffed.  “Like I care.”  He activated a Lanza del Relampago in his remaining hand.

                “Was it also me… who cut off your left arm and leg?” Kurosaki demanded.

                Murcielago glared coldly at him without replying.

                “If that’s so, then cut off my left arm and leg,” Kurosaki commanded him.  Orihime was distressed at this, and called out to him.  Murcielago was shocked, and the Lanza in his hand dissipated.  Kurosaki continued.  “That entity that was fighting earlier was me in hollow form with no consciousness.  That wasn’t me.”  His voice intensified.  “If we’re to settle this, I have to be in an identical condition as you, or we won’t be evenly matched!”

                “Hold on, Kurosaki!” Ishida protested.  “Do you know what you’re saying?!  Kurosaki!”

                Murcielago contemplated this for a moment, and then turned toward his opponent.  “Fine.  If that is your wish, then I will oblige.”  He extended his wing to come at Ichigo, but a hole tore in the webbing, and began to dissolve the surrounding area, blowing particles of ash into the wind.

                Shock registered on everyone’s faces, even Murcielago’s for an instant.  He glanced back then, irritated.  “Tsk.  So this is it?”

                Ichigo stood, bewildered, uncomprehending of what he saw before him.

                “Kill me,” Murcielago ordered, but in more of a tone of resignation than of threat.  “Make it quick…  I have no strength left to even walk.”  More of him was dissolving now, blowing away.  “If you don’t kill me now, this duel will remain unsettled forever.”

                Ichigo’s teeth clenched in rage.  “I refuse,” he countered softly.

                “What?”  Murcielago asked.

                “I said I don’t want to.  This is no way to win!”  Kurosaki declared in a frustrated yell.

                Murcielago’s eyes widened in disbelief.   _I will not die this way,_ he insisted.   _This is a coward’s death.  I relinquish this broken body to you._

 _Let me sleep,_ Ulquiorra begged as he felt his consciousness being dragged from the depths, becoming fully aware for the first time now of what was going on.   _Please, do not make me die in front of my woman._

                He knew full well though that the power level required to sustain Murcielago, could not be maintained at this point.  His body was broken, and he was done for.  Murcielago’s eyes faded, and returned to the usual jade-colored eyes of Ulquiorra.

                He closed them wearily.  “To the very end, you just won’t do what I want,” he murmured, as much to Ichigo as to the parting Murcielago.

                Orihime stood then, looking pleadingly at Ulquiorra.  He glanced at her, sadness welling up in him.   _Was it worth it?_ he asked himself.   _The fleeting joy, only just begun…  So much time, stolen from us…_ “Just when I was finally… beginning to become a bit interested in you people,” he murmured, his verdant gaze pinning her.  As all the barriers began to melt, his mind came upon a conversation she’d had with Murcielago, just before the battle.

                 _“Are you afraid?” he asked her.  “You will die here, all alone, with no contact with anyone.”  Her silence was deafening.  “I’m asking if you are afraid,” he insisted._

_After a moment’s reflection, she replied, “I am not afraid.”_

_The reply staggered his mind.  His eyes widened._

_“Because everyone came to rescue me, my heart is with theirs.”  She had smiled softly then._

_Murcielago had scoffed.  “Such nonsense.  Because your friends came for you, you are not afraid?  Do you really mean those words?”_

_Her eyes had narrowed, and she replied, “Yes.”  It was the first moment she had felt anything but fear toward him.  She had pitied him in that moment, he realized._

_“What is a heart?” he demanded.  “If I rip open your chest, will I see it inside?  If I split your skull, will I see it inside?”  He was lashing out at her, sensing her pity, wanting to hurt her, keep her at a distance._ I do not want your pity, Woman,  _Murcielago had thought to himself._

                Ulquiorra reached his hand out toward Orihime.  She had never seen him in this form, and no doubt it had been terrifying to her.  “Are you afraid of me, Woman?” he wanted to know.

                “I am not afraid,” she whispered, tears brimming in her silvery eyes.   _Fool,_ she thought _.  Our last moments together, and he asks something silly as this?  How could I fear him, in any form, if it is truly him behind those eyes, as it is now?  But losing him…_ “I’m not afraid,” she repeated, trying to steel herself with this lie, because the prospect of losing him did terrify her.

                Ulquiorra saw her between his outstretched fingers.  “I see,” he whispered, retracting his hand.  His strength was spent, he was fading fast now.  His woman reached for his hand, but as her fingers neared his, they dissolved into ash and smoke, creeping up his arm.

                 _I see now,_ Murcielago called from the ashes.   _In this palm…  is a heart._

                The ash scattered on the wind, and there was nothing left where he had been, but emptiness.


	6. Epilogue: Clarity

                The battle went on. Orihime did her part, and they ultimately defeated Aizen, but her heart was not in any of it.  She was not allowed to mourn, because no one had known of her forbidden love with the defeated Espada.  She knew no one could understand. She was forced to stuff her sadness down, numbing the pain, to keep her secret.

                Finally, they returned to the World of the Living.

                Her first night back in her apartment, as she was locking the front door, she lost her composure, and everything came flooding out all at once.  She collapsed against the door, sobbing relentlessly, shaking and calling out his name.  She lay there, wishing he were there to scoop her up as he had done so many times before, wipe her tears, kiss her cheeks dry.  But she was alone now.

                She cried herself to sleep that night.  It had been weeks since she had slept beside him, but somehow, back here in her apartment, it felt wrong.  She had never really pondered what would come of their affair.  She must have known in some way that it could not have lasted, because she had never once imagined him there with her in her apartment in the world of the living.  But at the same time, she thought they would never be apart.

                As she lay there on her tear-soaked pillow, she felt as empty and broken as Ulquiorra’s side had been after the blast from Ichigo’s Cero.

                She dreamed that night of the final battle between Ichigo and Ulquiorra.  She dreamed things had ended differently.  She had thrown herself between them before Ichigo sliced through Ulquiorra’s body, screaming, “Santenkesshun!” as a triangular shield of golden light flew up between them, protecting them both from the slash.  Orihime was knocked back into Ulquiorra, who caught her in his arms.  She felt herself fading out.

                When she opened her eyes and looked up, she was gazing into Ulquiorra’s unmistakable green irises.  Orihime smiled.  “You’re ok,” she whispered, reaching up and laying her hand on his cheek.  She noticed instantly though that his skin, while still paler than her own, was not nearly as white as usual.  And the tear-stain marks of his Estigma were gone from his cheeks as well.

                Come to think of it, his pupils were round now, not the cat-like slits they had always been.  Orihime stroked his cheek and cocked her head curiously to the side.  “You’re different,” she mused.  She looked around the room.  “Am I dreaming?  This must be a dream…  You’re… gone…” she whispered the last two words painfully.

                “If it is a dream, then it is a good dream.  Let neither of us ever wake from it again.”  Ulquiorra took her hand and held it to his chest.  “I am alive,” he assured her.

                The underlying meaning of his words sank in, and she pressed her hand against him, feeling the firmness of his pectoral muscles where they attached to his sternum.  Orihime grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled down at it.  Unsatisfied, she reached instead for the hem of the t-shirt, and lifted it to his throat, revealing only skin.  No tattoo.  And…

                “No hole,” she quavered, lowering the shirt slowly, her eyes full of questions.  “But…  How?”

                Ulquiorra stroked her hair, his fingertips brushing one of the snowflake clips at her temple.  “Your power.  You reject fate.  While you slept last night, you rejected  _my_ fate.”

                “My dream!” Orihime gasped, remembering.  “But, how are you human?” she puzzled.

                Ulquiorra smiled softly.  “I was not able to overcome my Hollow self.  Spawned of emptiness, lacking a heart, I could never have found a way to reconcile my growing love for you with that form.  But you filled me, Orihime.  You filled the emptiness.  You rejected my fate completely- even my fate to become a Hollow.”  Orihime could see tears glinting in his liquid, green eyes as he clutched her hand to his chest.  “I have a heart now, Orihime.  It beats in my chest because of you.  And it beats for you.”

                They held each other, and laughed and cried.  They had a lifetime now, to spend together in the sunlight of the world of the living.  Ulquiorra closed his eyes, and saw the face of the young man from his dream so long ago.  “To love again,” he whispered, holding his woman tightly to him, inhaling her scent deeply.  “It is better.  Arigato.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: It’s been a trial, but it feels good to have it finished. I tried hard to keep Ulquiorra as in-character as possible, but as you know now, some degree of his OOC-ness was part of my plot development. I hope no one thought it was too much. Now that the path has been paved and the foundation properly laid, I will be writing some one-shots and other stories, involving the Espada as friends of the Shinigami and humans, living alongside them in Karakura Town. Next in my Resolution!'verse series is "Urahara's Arrancar Rehabilitation Center," which is the direct follow-up to "Resolution." Thank you for reading.


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